


Flux

by R_R_Fox



Series: The Master and The Padawan [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: The Prequel before the Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_R_Fox/pseuds/R_R_Fox
Summary: Dooku has selected a Padawan learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  An obvious choice, as they are both powerful and ethical Jedi.  Yoda has a vision about what the future will hold....SPOILER ALERT-Alternate history!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My mother](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+mother).



_Everything is in flux.  It is impossible to step into the same river twice, as the current is always moving.  So, too, flows both time and events, making the future difficult to see clearly.  For Destiny is made, or unmade, on the turn of the smallest points imaginable…_

                                                                                                                             Jedi Master Heera Kli Tu’us, Knowledge and the Obscure

Coruscant, 44 BBY

Yoda wearily returned to his chambers after the hearing for Qui-Gon, and gratefully sank down into a cushion.  He was tired, on many levels.

His mind returned to the meeting.  It was good Qui-Gon and Dooku were speaking to one another again.  It had been far too long.  He should also have been pleased by how the session transpired, but intruding on his thoughts was a feeling of unease.  He was not sure why.

Yoda reflected on these disturbing feelings.  No, these didn’t come from the Council session.  In fact, these feelings appeared before the session.  It was during his conversation with Dooku.

Yoda was gratified with Dooku’s decision to take a new apprentice.  Dooku was an exceptional man, and his choice to no longer train Padawans was a loss to the Jedi Order.

And he was pleased, not only as a member of the Jedi Council, but also as Dooku’s former Master.  Dooku’s refusal to train Padawans was a deeply personal one, born of bitterness and disappointment.  His idealism had been a knife twisting back in his own hand, and it had cut him deeply.  However, when he had spoken about Kenobi, Dooku was no longer bitter.  The decision to train the boy was a healing one.

The choice was a good one for Kenobi as well.  The boy would need a powerful Master to help him reach his potential.  In this regard, there could be no better choice for him than Dooku.

Yoda should have been comforted by these thoughts, but was not.

He shook his head.

“Old am I, and ridiculous,” he said aloud.

Yet saying this to the silent room did not allay his feelings.

He tried again.  “Nothing to fear there is.”  For he now realized it was _fear_ he felt.

Yoda curled up onto his cushion, resting his tired body.  Perhaps he should meditate on these feelings.

He stared at the flickering flame of the oil lamp beside him, watching the dance it made against his breath.  He allowed his eyes to close.

He would be one with the Force.

He would let go.

_Think not._

_Let go._

It was perhaps a little like rising from the forest floor, where all was close and shadowed, to the top of the tallest tree, where all could be seen far into the distance, illuminated by the light of day.  It was beyond words, beyond even thoughts, for as he opened up his consciousness, emptying his ego from himself, his mind transformed in a tremendous expansion, his mind no longer a mortal mind, but the mind of the omnipresent Force.

Around him he could see the shapes and patterns of billions of lives, all bound together into the whole.  Each pattern of life was like a single song in an overwhelming diapason of sound, a single thread woven among other threads in a cloth without beginning nor end.  And even as he watched, the lives were shifting and changing at dizzying speed, with past and future possibility.  He had ceased to be merely Yoda, but had become a part of the WHOLE, his vision no longer a mere vision of the part, but a glimpse of ALL, each of the infinite variations of the billions of lives impossible to follow individually, but with an internal sense and beauty when seen as ONE.

_Find Kenobi, I will._

He was easy to find, for his thread of life was shining and pure, a shot of gold glinting from among the other colors, its song simple, powerful, and true.

_Yes.  Follow it, I must…_

 

 

 

A young girl sat in a small room of the Jedi Temple.  She looked no more than sixteen.  Her pink dress, wrinkled and heavily soiled at the hem, was obviously expensive.  Her fair hair hung down lank and unwashed, the shadows under her blue eyes dark like bruises.

If she had smiled, she would have been beautiful.  But she did not smile, not even at the squalling baby she held in her arms.  She did not sing to soothe him, but only rocked her body back and forth as she held him, her eyes tightly closed.

Two Tenders, Aprhrontis and Eumarien, entered.  The girl opened her eyes and abruptly stopped her rocking.  The infant began to cry harder, a shrill insistent sound.

“You have come for him,” the girl said, not a question.

“Yes,” replied Aprhrontis, gently.

“It is all for the best,” the girl said, listlessly.  She said it as if she were repeating something she had been told.  “The Jedi will take good care of him.”

“Your son will be well cared for,” Eumarien agreed.

The girl did not respond, but looked down at the infant she held in her lap.  Eumarien sighed.

He tried again.  “The Jedi have said your son is exceptionally strong in the Force.  He will no doubt be a powerful Jedi.”

“Yes, that it what they said,” she answered, vaguely.  “His life will be better this way.”  Her response was by rote.  She was in some dark place beyond listening.

The infant started squirming in her lap.  The girl merely sat there, and made no move to hand him over.

With a soft sigh, Eumarien quietly took him from her, withdrawing a few steps as the infant’s cry grew louder and more desperate.

The girl did not cry.  She was totally silent, huddled down in her chair, hugging herself tightly with her thin arms.  She took a deep, shuddering breath.  Suddenly, she stood up, and then, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head, made to move towards the lone door.

However, as she walked past Eumarien and her son, she hesitated for a moment.  She stood awkwardly in front of them, unable to speak.

The crying baby was red-faced.  The girl reached over and softly patted the sparse hair on the baby’s head.

“Goodbye, Obi-Wan.”

“Come,” Aprhrontis said, soothingly.  “I will walk with you.”  She took the girl’s arm, which hung limp and lifeless in Aprhrontis’ hand.  The girl looked at her and nodded in thoughtless agreement, her eyes red-rimmed but still dry.  Aprhrontis blinked her own eyes a few times, for there was wetness in them, as if she could weep in the girl’s stead.

Aprhrontis took a step towards the door, to gently lead the girl by her arm. The girl looked down at Aprhrontis’ hand, and blinked, as if surprised by the contact.

“You must excuse me,” the girl said, stiffly, but with irreproachable civility, pulling away.  The girl walked alone to the door.  She showed no emotion, her back straight and unbowed.  But she walked very slowly, in the manner of a warrior determined to show no weakness, after receiving a mortal wound.

 

 

 

Yoda sighed deeply, his eyes still closed.

_Why see this I must?_

For there were many reasons why children were given to the Jedi. Most, if not all, were painful, better to be forgotten.

He did not need a vision to show him that.

Better to continue.

_Find the boy again, will I…_

 

 

 

In the Jedi nursery a Tender leaned over one of the cradles.

Smiling, she reached into the cradle and gently lifted the human infant.  Holding the child close, she touched the baby’s cheek with her own.  “I will tell you a secret, little one,” she whispered to him, pretending solemnity.  “I am not supposed to have favorites, but _you_ are my favorite.”

The infant snuggled close to her and smiled, as if he understood.

“But you are everyone’s favorite, aren’t you?” she teased.  “You have a smile for everyone, don’t you, my little Qui-Gon?”

He laughed with her, showing his two little teeth.

 

 

 

Yoda frowned.  He had tried to find Obi-Wan, not Qui-Gon.

_Why see him did I?_

Yoda contemplated Qui-Gon’s thread.  It was… complicated.  Yoda could see the single life twining about many others in a chaotic pattern.  Qui-Gon’s deep red thread was random in its wanderings, its song a composite harmony of many different sounds.

And yet…

Perhaps this life was not accidental, but hinted at the deeper hidden pattern of the Force, the seeming randomness not chaos but a higher form of order comprehensible only to the mind of the Infinite.  For the deep red life unified everything it touched, and beneath the chorus of many voices and melodies there was a driving beat, throbbing, insistent, with the constancy of a heart.

For a moment, Yoda could _almost_ glimpse the order underneath the seeming disorder, but it was dizzying, and he quickly lost sight of it.

The life of Qui-Gon barely glanced against that of Obi-Wan, before veering off into the future.  Why, then, had he seen Qui-Gon?  He did not understand…

 

 

 

Again, a room in the Jedi nursery, but this time there was a single cradle.

A young human Tender leaned over it, looking down at the baby inside.  The human infant was ugly, puny, and feeble, his head mostly hairless.  His thin skin was red with irritation, and there were yellow and crusted lesions about his nose and mouth.

He was not crying.  His eyes were open, and he was regarding the Tender in silence.

The door of the room opened, and an older Tender of the Chalactan race entered the room.

“He seems to be all right,” the young Tender breathed, gratefully.

“Let me see him, Aletheia.”

The young tender picked up the small infant, and handed him to her superior. The infant did not resist being held, but he did not reach for the older Tender either, instead lying apathetically in her arms.

“What happened?” the older Tender asked.

“I don’t know, Hexapele K’ux.  When the monitor went silent, I thought… I thought… Well, he has been crying for many days,” Aletheia finished, lamely.

Hexapele K’ux nodded in understanding.  “He has been eating poorly, not gaining weight.  And he has that look about him.”

“Yes,” Aletheia admitted.  She drew a breath, and then ventured, “I know the reasons why the Jedi take the children from their families.  You have explained about attachment to me, many times.  But when a child cannot bear the separation… it does not get easier to watch.”

“I understand.  It is never easy to watch one of them die,” Hexapele K’ux said, her dark eyes kind.  “It is the hardest part of our task as Tenders, and it will never get any easier, although you do need to accept it.  I am grateful it is rare.  But see here, he is looking at us.”

The infant’s eyes were open, and he was watching both Tenders intently.

“Perhaps now he will eat more.”  Hexapele K’ux picked up a bottle of graia, which had been lying, untouched, by the side of the cradle.  She held the bottle to his mouth, and the infant began to suck, not greedily, but slowly and steadily.

Hexapele K’ux smiled, “Sometimes, after a time, they decide to live after all.  It’s as if they accept their mothers are not returning.”

Watching him feed, Aletheia said, tentatively, “But if he does not do well, could we not return him to his mother?  He would not be a Jedi, but he would live.”

“I once thought as you do,” Hexapele K’ux answered, shaking her head, regretfully.  “But the Code does not allow for it.  The Masters come to see the infants starting the day they arrive to expose them to the Force.  You could say this is when they begin their training.  And for _this_ one,” she added, looking thoughtfully at the infant, “for _this_ one it would make no difference.  If he had not been given to the Jedi, I doubt his mother would have been able to care for him, since… But no matter.  He is eating well, now.”

The infant had finished the bottle.  Hexapele K’ux pulled the empty bottle from his mouth.  The child lay there, quietly, in her arms.

“I will stay with him, and feed him throughout the night.”  Aletheia was looking at the infant in her superior’s arms.

“Good,” Hexapele K’ux said, handing him over.  “He will need to gain some weight.”

As Hexapele K’ux left the room, Aletheia warmly smiled at the infant she was holding.  The baby, his blue eyes watchful, did not return her smile.

“Have you decided to live, Obi-Wan?” she asked, very softly, rocking him in her arms.  “I hope so.  You must learn to survive, little one, in any way you can.  For you will be a Jedi.”

 

 

 

The Code demanded the Jedi be raised without attachment.  That was the Code, the Law of the Jedi for twenty thousand years.  A harsh law, but a good one.  A _necessary_ one.

But there was another side to this Law, a price sometimes paid, one only talked about in sorrowful whispers while mourning the infants who died in their cradles.  Despite the most careful of care, these infants would not thrive, instead becoming more feeble and weak, until the inevitable occurred.  ‘The wasting,’ the Tenders called it.

Yoda thought of the feeble infant he had just seen.  Obi-Wan’s eyes were wary, distrustful.

_No other choice there is.  Attachment forbidden is._

_And ended well it did, for him_ , Yoda reassured himself. _Survived it the boy did, without harm…_

 

 

 

A small Sauran female of four was bouncing a ball to herself, singing a tuneless song under her breath.  With a wild bounce, the ball rolled away into the bushes of the Temple gardens.

A big human boy of about eight scooped it up, throwing it into the air.

“Kolastes!  I was playing with that ball!”

“And now _we_ are, Thrupsis,” Kolastes said, smirking, as he threw the ball to another large Rodian boy, who was laughing.

Thrupsis tried to leap and catch the ball in midair, but she was too small, and too slow.  Her scaly skin turned reddish pink, the color of frustration.  And hurt.

“Give the ball back to her.  _Now_.”

The two boys turned to see who had spoken.  It was a human boy of about six, much smaller than the two older boys.

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” Kolastes stated, “what’s it to you?”  He had caught the ball, but rather than returning it to his friend, he cradled it, insouciantly, against his hip.

“What you are doing is wrong,” Obi-Wan said, sternly.  It was strange to hear such a harsh tone from a small child.  His thin arms were crossed over his chest in disapproval.

“ _And_ it is none of your business.  You had better just walk away.”

“I won’t.”

“You _won’t_?” Kolastes repeated, incredulously.  He stepped very close to Obi-Wan, with intent, leaning over the younger boy.  “Do I need to teach you a lesson?”

Obi-Wan did not flinch.  “No,” he answered, calmly.  “But I think I need to teach _you_ one.  Your actions are not worthy of a Jedi.”  He said nothing else, just looked at Kolastes evenly until the bigger boy had to look away.

“This was getting boring anyway,” Kolastes said, finally, throwing the ball back at Thrupsis.  “Come on, Oulos.”  The two boys walked away, carefully avoiding Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Thrupsis looked up at Obi-Wan in gratitude.  He was still looking off in the distance, at the two retreating boys.  She tugged on his sleeve.  “Thank you, Obi-Wan, for helping me.”

Obi-Wan looked down at her, his clear blue eyes seeming to take a moment to fixate on her, as if he had momentarily forgotten she was there.  He shrugged, “You do not need to thank me.  Those who do wrong should be stopped.”

 

 

 

 _Even so young, a Jedi Knight was he,_ Yoda thought, smiling…

 

 

 

“The one you should all be watching and emulating is Kenobi,” Master Axiphos was saying.  “His hand control is exquisite.”

The other younglings turned their heads to look at the small blond boy.  He must have been at least nine, but small for his age.  He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, among the other younglings surrounding the lightsaber master.  Obi-Wan made no reaction to the Master’s praise, only nodding his head in acknowledgement.

“Drills are done for the day,” pronounced the Master, dismissing the class.

Following Master Axiphos, all the younglings filed out of the room, except for Obi-Wan.  No one noticed he did not follow.

Now alone, his expression was anxious, almost troubled.

In a sudden, graceful motion, he flicked on the practice blade and began the flow of the basic forms taught to all Jedi when they first learned the way of the lightsaber, the Shii-Cho.

Though these forms were deceptively simple, based on direct straight line attacks, Obi-Wan had such control that each movement was revealed to be a dance of pure and exacting beauty.  Each motion of his body was simple and utterly perfect.

Obi-Wan repeated the sequence again and again, never pausing, until his tunic was wet and his hair dark with sweat.  There was no hint of fatigue or pain in his body, no trembling of muscles, or sloppiness of form, only the relentless flow of lunge and retreat and leap.

The boy’s expression was no longer anxious.  He was calm and at peace.

Master Axiphos returned to the training room, but upon seeing Kenobi, stopped at the doorway to watch.  Obi-Wan took no notice of him.

A few minutes later, Obi-Wan abruptly stopped mid-sequence.  He shook his head in disgust, and quickly assumed the first defensive neutral position and started again.

Master Axiphos finally spoke.  “Obi-Wan, why did you interrupt the forms?”

The boy stopped; clearly surprised someone else was there.  “Master Axiphos!  Excuse my discourtesy.  I apologize for not acknowledging your presence.”

“Do not concern yourself.  You cannot be discourteous towards someone you did not know was there.  Though, perhaps, you should not be so focused you lose awareness of your surroundings.”

“Yes, Master.”

“But you did not answer my question.”

“Excuse me, Master.  I did not wish to continue after such a clumsy error.”

“ _Error_?”  Master Axiphos repeated, in disbelief.  “Obi-Wan, the sequence was _flawless_.”

The boy shook his head, solemnly.  “In the final lunge, my back wrist was slightly over-rotated.”

Master Axiphos pursed his lips.  His expression had admiration, but also incredulity and disquiet.  “I _see_.  Why did you miss the evening meal?”

“I had forgotten,” the boy answered.  He flicked off his blade.

“You will need to eat if you are to have strength for your drills,” Master Axiphos said, smiling.

The boy did not return his smile, but nodded, seriously.  “Yes, Master.  I will not do so again.  Am I dismissed?”

“Yes, but go to the kitchens and prepare something for yourself.”

“Thank you, Master.  I will.”

As Obi-Wan walked to the cabinet against the far wall to return his practice blade, there was a trembling in his body, as if every muscle was burning from fatigue.  But, as he turned away from the cabinet, and noticed Master Axiphos still watching him, he controlled the trembling by force of will, and bowed gracefully.

Master Axiphos caught the boy’s arm as he passed by.  “Obi-Wan, your discipline is admirable.  But, do you expect to learn in one night what it takes a lifetime to master?”

The boy was surprised at the question.  “Of course not, Master.  But the little I know, I must do _perfectly_.”

 

 

 

 _Yes, striving always towards perfection_ , Yoda thought.  But he was no longer smiling.  The young boy alone in the practice room, relentlessly purging himself of the smallest imperfections, disturbed him.

“…the little I know, I must do _perfectly._ ”  There was something very familiar about the boy’s face when he said this.  It took him a moment to place it.

_My old Padawan.  Dooku._

Physically, the boy looked nothing like Master Dooku, yet at that moment he closely resembled the elder Jedi, as if underneath their features they were identical, with a kinship deeper than flesh.

Yoda sought out Dooku’s thread.  His was easy to find, for his life was an exceptional one.  Like that of Obi-Wan, his thread was blindingly bright, but while Obi-Wan’s was gold, Dooku’s was white-hot silver, the song not a song, but the powerful clap of thunder.

_Foolish am I.  Alike they are.  Belong together, the two of them do._

Yoda followed the thread of Dooku’s life.  It cut across the paths of others on a fixed course, the pattern of his life immutable…

 

 

“Your actions are _inexcusable_ ,” Master Dooku said.  The line of his jaw was clearly defined, the only sign of his severe displeasure.  His black hair, mixed with silver, set off the angry whiteness of his skin.

“I could not leave for Artemeson immediately.  If I had not helped to hold the pass, the Tajik would have killed Leonidas and his followers.”  The voice was quiet and steady.  It was not an excuse, only a statement of fact.

It was Qui-Gon who spoke.  He was very young, and awkwardly thin, his long body all gangly arms and legs.  His dark hair was cut very short, except for the Padawan braid that brushed his shoulder.

Dooku stepped towards his Padawan.  His penetrating dark eyes bore into Qui-Gon’s blue ones.  It was as if he was examining him, seeing clearly every flaw, weighing and measuring his Padawan’s weakness against his worth.

Dooku’s next words were clipped, and harsh, as if each word was a blaster shot in the quiet room.  “With your failure to meet our contacts at the appointed time, the mission failed.  There _will_ be civil war.  How many will die?  Thousands, _hundreds_ of thousands?  _Millions_?”

As Dooku said this, Qui-Gon did not look away, but in his eyes there was pain.

“I am sorry, Master, although I know it changes nothing.”

It was obvious by Dooku’s expression he was not accustomed to apologies from his Padawan.  He let out a long, fatigued breath, and his face softened.  “You are correct.  Apologies change _nothing_ ,” Dooku said firmly, but his voice was not as harsh.

“I do not _want_ to fail you, Master,” Qui-Gon said, his voice low.  He then laughed shortly, mirthlessly, “Although I _am_ always somehow doing that.  I just can’t bear to see others in pain, and not help.”  Qui-Gon tentatively reached forward with his right hand, as if to touch his Master’s arm, but then stopped, letting it fall back to his side.  Dooku did not notice.

“Your feelings for others are admirable, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said, more gently still.  “It is a sign of _greatness_ to be magnanimous in feeling.   But if we are truly to battle all the darkness in the galaxy, we cannot forget our objective.  We cannot concern ourselves with those who distract us from our purpose.”  Dooku then clapped his Padawan, diffidently, on the shoulder.  “Do not worry, my son,” he said, reassuringly.  “You are still very young, and there is much time to live up to the potential I see in you.”

 

 

 _Always his own way, Qui-Gon must go,_ Yoda thought _.  A true Knight, always on_ _his own quest_.  _But_ _liv_ e _up to the expectations of his Master, he did not._

Yoda did not know why the Force had once again shown him Qui-Gon.  Perhaps it was only to remind him Dooku was a teacher of rare excellence, training exceptional Jedi.  For who else could have taught Qui-Gon the one lesson he needed to learn above all others?  For Dooku _had_ taught Qui-Gon to temper his natural sympathy with restraint, his passions with wisdom.

He smiled to think how Dooku and Qui-Gon had always been in stubborn opposition, each refusing to yield.  Yet, in the end, Dooku managed to teach his Padawan much.  Despite all his disagreements with the Council, Qui-Gon _was_ a great Jedi, just not the Jedi his Master had wanted him to become.

_Certainly, with Dooku his master, Kenobi a great Jedi will also be._

Yoda silenced his questioning mind, allowing the Force to lead him where it would…

 

 

 

Master Dooku sat in his quarters, reading something on his datapad.  Upon hearing the door chime, he carefully placed the datapad on his desk and looked towards the closed door.  “You may come.”

The door slid open, and Obi-Wan stepped cautiously into the room.  “You summoned me, Master?”

“Yes,” Dooku replied.

“What is it you wish of me, Master?”

“I wanted to discuss with you the essay you wrote when I filled in for Master Keimai.”

“I would welcome any suggestions you have for its improvement, Master.”

“You misunderstand.  Your essay is faultless; there are no recommendations to be made.  I wish merely to discuss it.”

The boy inclined his head, gravely.  “I am honored, Master, that you wish to help me improve my understanding of philosophy.”

Dooku laughed, gently, at this.  “On the contrary, there is very _little_ I could teach you in this matter.  You understand, beyond your years, the importance of detachment in the life of the Jedi.”  He looked back down at the datapad before him, and then looked up, searchingly, at the boy.

The boy was standing in the square of light coming through the window.  He was blindingly bright, for his fair skin, so white and scrubbed clean, seemed to glow.  His head was lowered, and the top of his blonde head and eyelashes glinted gold in the strong morning light.

“Do you _truly_ believe all that you wrote, Obi-Wan?”  Dooku asked, softly, indicating the datapad at his hand.  “About the pursuit of the ideal?”

Obi-Wan looked up, and for the first time he met the Master’s eyes.  The boy’s own eyes were illuminated by the direct glare to transparent amber.

“Yes, Master.  I do.”

“You write much on detachment.”

“I believe it is a quintessential goal of the Jedi.”

“In your essay you claim if one is attached to nothing, and desires nothing, one can then find peace and be purged of the Dark.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Of all the subjects you could have chosen, you chose detachment.  Why?”

The boy shrugged, “It is of interest to me.”

“You have thought on this subject before, then?”

“Yes.”

Dooku stood up and walked to the window, his back to the boy.  His long body cast a shadow in the bright room.

“Strange concerns for such a young man,” remarked Dooku, idly, staring out of the window.

“I do not know, Master, if it is strange.”

“It is.  _Most_ rare,” Dooku said, in the same distracted tone.

He then suddenly turned on Obi-Wan, his voice close to accusatory.  “Why do _your_ thoughts turn that way?  Are _you_ troubled with attachments?  _Feelings_ you cannot control?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the change in tone, but he shook his head, “No, Master.”

Dooku was not satisfied with his answer.  “But in your essay you claim such feelings, such attachments, are a common condition.”

“Common, but not universal, Master,” the boy countered, calmly.

“So you are free from attachment?”  Dooku was obviously skeptical.

“I was raised by the Jedi.  What could I be attached _to_ , Master?”

Dooku shook his head.  “That is not good enough.  More than one Jedi has fallen to the Dark Side due to attachment.”

“Yes, but most do not.  It is difficult to be attached without families or possessions of one’s own.”

“Difficult, but not impossible.”

“Yes,” the boy conceded.  “But the goal of the Jedi disciplines is the purging of all attachments and desires.”

“We circle around the issue, yet it is never answered,” Dooku snapped, impatiently.  “Do not repeat to me Jedi philosophy.  Why are _you_ without attachment?”

For the first time, the boy did not seem so self-assured, as he had to struggle to find an answer.  He paused for a moment, looking down at his feet, before looking up again.

“I… I do not know,” he finally replied, awkwardly.  “It… it has always been so.”

“I see.”  Dooku fixed his piercing black eyes on Obi-Wan’s face with their full intensity.  “So you _are_ different from the other younglings.”

Obi-Wan’s expression remained unchanged, but something in the muscles of his face tensed slightly at Dooku’s words.

Dooku seized on Obi-Wan’s reaction, triumphantly.  “But I am not telling you something you do not already know.”

Obi-Wan nodded, hesitantly.

Seeing the boy’s expression, Dooku chided, sternly, “Do not be concerned with being different, youngling.  To be different is to be set apart for great things.”

Dooku stepped closer and looked down into Obi-Wan’s face, thoughtfully.  When he spoke again, his voice was gentle, almost a caress.

“You do not have sentimentality.  Your actions are driven by logic, and by virtue.”  Dooku’s face relaxed into a smile.  “It is a rare gift you have been given, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Many adult Jedi do not have such detachment and such clear thinking.  You are most fortunate.”  He went on, briskly.  “Your teachers have told me you are an exceptional student.  But this… _this_ will be your greatest strength as a Jedi.  Your strict adherence to it will keep you in the Light.”

“I understand, Master.”

“ _No_ , I do not think you do,” Dooku corrected him, still smiling.  “I have not taken a Padawan learner in many years.  I had believed my years of training Jedi to be behind me.  However, after reading your essay, I discovered I had in fact been waiting to train _you_.  I, perhaps more than any other Master, can teach you how to use your innate gifts for the betterment of the galaxy.  Obi-Wan Kenobi, I am taking you as my Padawan learner.”

Obi-Wan bowed to Dooku.  He did not smile.  “I am honored to be chosen by you, Master.  I am eager to learn from you how to best serve the good of the Republic.”

“I am sure you are.  Your first lesson, however, is to remember the Republic should not be the scope of your vision.  It is not the _Republic_ we serve, but the entirety of the galaxy, and all its beings.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I will demand much from you.  It will not always be pleasant, but it is necessary if you are to reach your potential.  Your first assignment will be to learn about the planet Kubai.  We are to depart for this system in a few days.  I will have the docking bay number and time you are to meet me aboard ship sent to your quarters.  When on board, I will test you not only on the breadth of your knowledge of Kubai, but on your ability to discern which subject matters are of importance for our mission.  You must take the limited time you have to learn the essential information, and put aside the irrelevant.  I will also expect you to be well rested and well nourished.  I have heard this is a shortcoming of yours.  I will not tolerate it.  If you are tired or hungry, you will be useless to me.”

“Yes, Master.  May I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“What, exactly, is our mission?”

“That you must discover for yourself.  We will talk further during our journey to Kubai.  Until then, I, too, must prepare for our mission.”

“I will do all you ask of me.”

“Perhaps.  We shall see.  May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, bowing, before turning to exit the chamber.

The door automatically opened with Obi-Wan’s approach, but before stepping through, Obi-Wan suddenly stopped and turned back towards Dooku.  Dooku was again leaning over his desk, but, sensing Obi-Wan’s regard, returned his attention to his new learner.

Obi-Wan stood silently in the doorway, regarding his Master evenly. His expression was grave.

“Yes, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan then spoke, intently and deliberately, as if what he now said was a solemn vow.  “Master, I _promise_ I will strive for perfection.”

Dooku smiled, pleased with his new Padawan.  “Yes, Obi-Wan.  This you _will_ do.”

Obi-Wan again bowed deeply to his new Master.  He then strode from the room with the crisp walk of a highly disciplined trooper.

 

 

 

_A vision of the recent past, or near future this is?_

It was difficult to tell.  In the visions of the past all things were clear in their definitiveness, for the different possibilities collapsed into the ONE.  Visions of the future were blurred, not easily defined, and vibrated with infinite possibilities.

Yoda thought of the vision he had just seen.  It was _almost_ crystal clear.  _Almost_ fixed.  Seemingly all possible futures contained this moment when the Master chose his Padawan, as if it was a nexus in time anchoring all the events that would come to be.  Yet, there was still a _slight_ haziness about this vision, hinting at another path that could be chosen.  But it was so slight and insubstantial; it almost was as if it did not exist.

_Not yet happened this is, but happen very soon it would._

Yoda thought of the morning sun, illuminating Dooku’s study.

_Tomorrow, perhaps._

Each of the futures Yoda could see had Dooku and Obi-Wan, their threads of life intertwining, burning white-hot, the flame of each intensifying that of the other, as if in finally making contact they burned with an intense searing flame.

At first the song their joined future vibrated with was very soft.  But as the joined lives moved forward into the future, the song grew in intensity, an exquisite song of harmony.

Why had he any doubts?

The two of them were _meant_ to be Master and Padawan…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoda sees the brilliant future of Obi-Wan under Dooku's training. But something is wrong. Very wrong.

Obi-Wan, looking no more than a year older, was sitting before the five level chessboard, without an opponent.  He was intensely watching the permutations of the hologram pieces generated by the board as he keyed in various moves.  His scrutiny of the board was so complete he did not hear Master Dooku enter the room.

“Ah!  Coruscanti chess.  I hear you are an excellent player.”

“Thank you, Master,” the boy said, looking up.  He smiled at the unexpected praise.  “But actually, I was playing Hyperchess.”

“Really?” Dooku asked, impressed.  “Though, with your exceptional intelligence and concentration, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Obi-Wan averted his eyes, his fair face slightly reddened with the compliment.  “Do you play, Master?”

“I played a lot of Coruscanti chess as a youngling.”

The boy nodded.  “It is virtually the same game, but with a fourth dimension added, the dimension of time.”  Obi-Wan was comfortable again, talking animatedly about the mechanics of the game.  “Before each move, there is the option of timing a single piece out of the game for a specified number of turns.  The number of turns must be declared to the computer at the time, and is hidden from your opponent.  After those turns pass, the piece reappears in the same space as before, and if any piece is occupying that square, it gets taken, whether it is your opponent’s piece or your own.  Any piece, except the Emperor, can be sent into hyperspace.  And if a piece reappears on a square occupied by one of the Emperors, it is taken, not the Emperor.”

“I believe I understand.”

“Would you care for a game, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, shyly.

“Certainly,” Dooku said, pulling up a chair and taking a seat.  “I will play black.”

And so the game began.  Obi-Wan played quickly and decisively, every move clearly planned, and elegant.

Dooku, for his part, appeared to agonize over each move.  He did not plan any attacks, instead focusing on avoiding Obi-Wan’s numerous and intricate traps.

Obi-Wan advanced his pieces through the Blue level, leaving pieces in key strategic locations to prevent against a possible counterattack by Dooku.  Dooku, conversely, was in a perpetual retreat.  When Obi-Wan cornered one of Dooku’s pieces, Dooku would, with a dramatic sigh, send it into hyperspace to escape.  It wasn’t long before this was repeated on the Gold level, followed closely by the Red and Black levels.Dooku had now retreated his few remaining pieces to the top level, the White. In just a few more moves, Obi-Wan backed his Master’s Emperor, the sole piece Dooku had remaining on the board, into an inescapable trap.

“Checkmate, Master,” Obi-Wan said, hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable with defeating his Master.

Dooku raised an eyebrow.  “I do believe I have _one_ turn left, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan agreed, hastily.

“You are too polite to say what you are thinking.  That it is a mere delay of the inevitable.”

“There is no safe space to which you can move your Emperor,” Obi-Wan conceded, uncomfortably.  “No matter where you move it, I can take it on my next turn.”

“I would like to take my turn, anyway, Obi-Wan.  You do not _object_ , do you?”

The boy was surprised at the suggestion.  “Of course not, Master.”

Dooku then moved his Emperor one space.

He smiled.  “ _Now,_ Obi-Wan, the game is over.”

Before Obi-Wan could respond, chaos erupted on all five levels of the board.  For at that moment, each and every piece Dooku had sent out into hyperspace reemerged.  And each newly arrived piece now occupied a space that, moments before, one of Obi-Wan’s pieces had occupied.

The board was now reversed from the setup of a moment before.  All of Obi-Wan’s pieces, except for the Emperor, were taken.  His Emperor stood alone, a single white piece in an army of black.

Obi-Wan slowly looked up.  His Master had won.

It took Obi-Wan a moment to speak.  “I thought you said you weren’t familiar with the game.”

“No, I did not.  I _did_ say I played a great deal of Coruscanti chess as a youngling, and in fact I have won many tournaments.  Relatively, I played Hyperchess much less frequently.  I only won two sector-wide tournaments.”  Dooku shook his head in disappointment.  “Obi-Wan, if you had not underestimated me, you would have noticed the spaces from which my pieces entered hyperspace, and the match would have been a lot closer.”

“I apologize for my insolence, Master.  I should not have underestimated you.”

Dooku peered at Obi-Wan with his sharp black eyes.  “That is not what you are truly thinking.  You are thinking you would not have underestimated me if I had not intentionally deceived you.”

Obi-Wan looked away from his Master.

Dooku was not satisfied.  “You have not answered my question, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master,” he agreed, diffidently.  “I am thinking that.”

“And you are _also_ thinking it is mere sophistry on my part when I argue I did not actually _say_ I was unfamiliar with Hyperchess.”

When Obi-Wan did not answer right away, Dooku became impatient.  “There is no point in dissembling.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, slowly, still looking down at the board.

“In that you are correct,” Dooku snapped.  “It is _irrelevant_ whether I claimed to be a Master of the game, or a novice.  You must put forth your best effort, always, or face the consequences.  It is the only way to survive.”

Dooku indicated the board with his hand.  “If this had been combat, instead of a mere game, you would be dead.  Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan nodded, silently.

Dooku got up from his chair, and stood over his Padawan for a moment.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, quietly but emphatically, “you must _always_ be on your guard.  With _everyone._ ”  With that, Dooku strode from the room, leaving Obi-Wan alone.

 

_Alone…_ Yoda recalled Dooku as a young boy.  He had been mocked by some of his age mates, and Dooku responded by sticking out his chin, in studied arrogance.

“I don’t mind being alone,” he had said, “For _I_ will be great _._ ”

“Alone you are not.  For with you I am,” Yoda had consoled him.  The dark eyes had been wide, disbelieving, perhaps also shamed, for Yoda had seen his secret need

But Dooku had smiled at Yoda’s words, the arrogant chin trembling a little with some incoherent emotion.

_Perhaps believed me he did,_ Yoda thought, closing his eyes tightly, _for a time._

In his mind he saw the boy Kenobi looking down at the chessboard.  His face was closed, impossible to read.  He had perhaps wanted a connection with his Master, and had been taught a harsh lesson instead.

_Also alone Obi-Wan is…_

 

 

The two, Master and Padawan, stood facing each other in the sparring room.  They were now closer in height, for several years had passed.  Obi-Wan was now a young man of about sixteen, and although thin, his arms and legs were defined with wiry muscle.

Dooku looked at Obi-Wan, questioningly. Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes never leaving Dooku’s.

Immediately, Dooku flicked on his practice lightsaber blade and brought it swiftly down into attack position one.  It would have struck Obi-Wan in the head had he not blocked it just as quickly with the answer of parry one.

Without pause, Dooku repeated the same attack, which Obi-Wan again parried flawlessly.  Dooku then immediately followed the parry with a second attack, this one in position two, the line to the left arm, which was met just as unhesitatingly with parry two.

Dooku snapped his lightsaber back into attack position one.  Obi-Wan’s blade met his Masters, in perfect defense, and then again, as Dooku attacked in position two.  Dooku added to the sequence by attacking in position three, the right arm, again answered by the Padawan’s parry in that line.

Dooku continued the sequences, adding an attack in another line with each repetition, and with each round increasing the speed.  There was no time to think, only to react.

The hum of lightsaber blades was punctuated with the abrupt hiss of their collisions, as Obi-Wan met blow for blow, blade to blade.  Sweat glistened on his forehead in distinct droplets, but his face was utterly calm, his blue eyes never wavering from his Master’s sharp black ones.

The speed of Dooku’s attacks relentlessly increased over the half hour, until finally there was the slightest hesitation of the Padawan’s hand.  The flaw was almost unnoticeable, but it was enough.  Instead of blocking the blade of his Master with a parry one, Dooku’s blade slid along Obi-Wan’s and struck him in the neck.

Without hesitation, Obi-Wan brought his blade down into the line of parry two, to meet the next attack in the sequence.  Only it did not come.

For Dooku had stopped.  He stood facing Obi-Wan and flicked off the practice blade.  “The session is over.”

Obi-Wan stood there, his hand still in the line of parry two, his blade still illuminated.  “I would like to continue, Master, and correct my error.”

Dooku shook his head, “If you are fatigued, you will not perform the parries correctly, and you will then learn them _in_ correctly.  In any case, you have already learned an important lesson all Jedi need to learn.”

“I do not understand,” said Obi-Wan, frowning, as he shut off his saber.

Dooku stepped closer, and touched his Padawan’s neck with the tips of his fingers.  There was now a raised welt on the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, the violent red pronounced against the fairness of his skin.  Obi-Wan did not flinch at the touch.

“You do not fear pain.  It has no power over you.”  With this statement, Dooku gave his Padawan a nod of approval.

 

_In existence, pain there always is.  To tolerate pain, a necessity.  Among Jedi, a virtue even_ , Yoda thought to himself.

Yet Dooku’s praise increased his unease.

_Certainly other virtues in a Padawan praise he can…_

 

Obi-Wan was now a handsome young man in his late teens, and his hands were on a ship’s controls.  Through the cockpit canopy, the starlines were shrinking into points as the ship came out of hyperspace.

“Master, I am getting a transmission,” Obi-Wan exclaimed.  “It may be the Va’ak.”

“Doubtful.  I do not believe they have the capabilities to detect our ship this far from their planet.  Open the transmission.”

On the HoloProjector, there was nothing but an image of white static vaguely suggestive of the shape of a humanoid.  There was a loud unremitting bleep on the audio.

“A distress signal, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s hands quickly adjusted the communicator dials.  The visual image was still nothing but static, but now, along with the distress signal, could be heard the sound of a human voice.

“…the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“Eklipse, we read you,” Obi-Wan answered, rapidly keying in the coordinates.  “Why are you in distress?”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“They do not appear to be receiving our transmission, Master, and it seems they looped their distress signal.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Obi-Wan continued, “It is possible their receptors were damaged by whatever happened…” Obi-Wan looked up from the computer, his eyes wide.  “Their coordinates are at an event horizon.  The border of Karibdys 59-6, the black hole in this sector.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Since Dooku made no reply, Obi-Wan went on.  “Master, they are a half light-year away.  If they are already being pulled towards the event horizon, we will be hard pressed to make it there in time.”

Dooku, frowning, still made no response.  He strode over to the computer and put a search code into the database.

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Obi-Wan continued, more urgently, “It is very doubtful any other ships are close enough to reach them in time, even assuming any other ships receive their transmission.”

“Repeat. This is the ship Eklipse. If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Dooku finally spoke, his voice sharp with contempt.  “Just as I thought, a smuggling ship.  They are usually the ones who venture too near event horizons, hoping to evade the authorities.  The radiation must have destroyed their hyperdrive, along with their subspace engines.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“Master, shouldn’t we…?”

Dooku continued to read from the monitor, unperturbed.  “Their captain, a certain Ione Ithikan, is wanted in several planetary systems.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Obi-Wan turned to the hyperdrive computer.  “I will key in the new coordinates.”

Dooku’s voice was harsh.  “No, you will not.”

Obi-Wan’s hand hesitated over the computer.  “I… I don’t understand.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“Obi-Wan, if we delay our mission, even by as little as an hour, it would be disastrous.  The only reason why the Va’ak have not utterly subjected the Hixis is fear of reprisals from the Jedi Order and the Republic.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“But Master—”

“I am not finished,” Dooku cut him off, severely.  “The Va’akanan is meeting with us this very night.  The timing does not allow for detours.  If we do not arrive on time, he will assume we are not truly serious in our concern for the Hixis, and he will immediately resume his attacks.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“An hour cannot make a difference—”

“Even an hour is one more hour than we have.  And it would be much more than an hour.  The ship is in the opposite direction from our present course, at least an hour away.  We would need time to rescue the crew, and then return back to our original position.  That is a minimum of a three-hour delay.  And do you think we could bring this crew of smugglers along on our diplomatic mission?”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“The Va’akanan has explicitly stated that only the two of us can land on Vaakan. Can you imagine his reaction if we land with a bunch of criminals? It has stretched our negotiations to the very limit to bring about this meeting in the first place.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“If they are suspected criminals, we could bring them before the authorities, to decide their guilt or innocence,” Obi-Wan insisted, stubbornly.

“Then we merely return to our original problem, for to bring them before the authorities would require even more time.  Which, as I have already pointed out to you, we do not have.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“I could send a message to the Va’akanan, explaining the delay.”

“You could.  But he would be utterly offended.  Or worse, suspect some sort of trick.”

“He would suspect a trick from a minor delay?”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“He is irrational and suspicious, like most tyrants.  He summarily executed his own son, his heir, on charges of attempted adultery.  His ‘crime’?  He accidentally saw the unmasked face of his stepmother.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“If he will not believe us, let us ask him to send a rescue ship.  The Va’akanan can then see for himself we do not lie.”

Dooku shook his head.  “For all your intelligence, you do not understand the first rules of diplomacy.  Such a request would utterly destroy our position with the Va’akanan, for he would find it insulting that at our first meeting we request something from him, for criminals no less, without the slightest benefit to him.  And by the time the Va’ak readied a rescue ship, it would be too late.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“But Master!” Obi-Wan burst out.  “If we do not rescue the crew of this ship, they will die.”

“Yes,” Dooku conceded.  “But if we attempt to rescue the crew, the consequences for the Hixis would be even more grave.  I promise you, if we do not arrive on Vaakan as planned, hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, of Hixis will die.”

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands, resting on the computer input.  He was totally silent, so the crackling distress signal seemed unnaturally loud and unremitting.

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“I cannot stand it!”  Abruptly, Obi-Wan’s hands began to key in the new coordinates.

Dooku gripped his Padawan’s wrist.  Startled, Obi-Wan looked up into the eyes of his Master.

Dooku’s black eyes bore into Obi-Wan’s.  “You will _have_ to stand it, my son.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, incredulously.

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Dooku still held his Padawan’s wrist.  His voice was insistent.  “Choices must be made, Obi-Wan.  Some choices are not easy, but this does not excuse our moral failing if we choose not to make them.  It is unfortunate, yes, that some must die.  But no life is greater than the good.  _No one_.  _Never_ forget that.”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Obi-Wan looked away, and would not answer.

“Obi-Wan,” Dooku said, flatly, “at least hundreds of thousands of lives precariously hang on your choice.  _Innocent_ lives.  The crew of the ship is only a few in number.  And they are smugglers.  Criminals.  _Parasites_ of the galaxy.  You would sacrifice the lives of innocents, for such as these?  Can you justify that choice?”

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shortly, as if the answer was forced from him unwillingly.

“We will amplify and rebroadcast their message.  Perhaps there is another ship in range that can rescue them in time.  It is all we can do.”

Obi-Wan did not answer.  He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out with the Force.

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Obi-Wan then opened his eyes and regarded his Master with an accusatory expression.  “There is no other ship in range.”

Dooku did not become defensive at his own deception, but merely sighed.  “Yes.  I know,” he said, quietly.

“Repeat.  This is the ship Eklipse.  If you can read our signal, please come to our assistance.  We are at coordinates 491, 52, 01.”

Dooku’s expression was not unkind as he regarded his Padawan.  His hand, which had been a vise around his Padawan’s wrist, eased a little, such that it was no longer a restraint, but Dooku did not let go.

“Do you _truly_ understand, my son?”

Obi-Wan looked back at his Master, his blue eyes cold.  His face was now utterly closed.  He shook Dooku’s hand off his arm.

“I understand.”

“Repeat.  This is the—”

Obi-Wan snapped off the transmission, so now there was only silence.

He turned his back completely to his Master, his hands swiftly entering coordinates into the computer.  “I am resetting our course to Vaakan.”

Dooku stood behind him for a moment.  “It is a hard lesson, Obi-Wan.  But someday, you will understand that I am right.”

“You _are_ right,” Obi-Wan corrected him, impatiently, never looking up from the ship’s controls.  “They were only a bunch of smugglers anyway.”

 

“…only a bunch of smugglers anyway,” echoed in Yoda’s mind.

And they _had_ made the right choice.

_The same choice make would I_ , Yoda thought, defensively. _Even **Qui-Gon** the same choice would make.  No different would it be_.

_No,_ he corrected himself, _not the same, not the same at all_.  For there had been no regret, no sorrow at the loss of life.

They had been criminals and parasites.

Dooku was always virtuous, a true credit to the Order.  And yet, his virtue had a hidden flaw. _No fault he has, his fault that is.  For those who struggle, little compassion does he have._

But Yoda’s unease was drowned in the song of Dooku and Kenobi, which was growing louder and stronger still, as the lives of thousands began to vibrate in harmony with their song.

And it was _beautiful…_

 

The young human female, more girl than woman, had been secured to the stone wall behind her by heavy chains, which cut cruelly into the flesh of her neck, waist, and ankles, her white skin purplish black from bruising.  Her wrists were bound together in front of her, palm to palm, deeply cut by thick wire.  Her blue dress was stained dark maroon with the crusted blood that had run down her arms.  It had been many days since she had been cleaned and tended to, for not only was her dress filthy; her blonde hair was greasy and unkempt.

Although she was much smaller than the three surrounding her, she managed to regard them defiantly, despite a slight trembling of her body.

Her captors were males, a human, a Twi’lek, and a Gamorrean.  The Gammorean and the Twi’lek both looked to the human male.  He was smaller than the other two, and whippet thin, but there was something particularly vicious about his sharp features, which suggested why he was the leader.

“I am so very sorry to tell you,” he said, with false and mocking sympathy, “your father has apparently decided you are not worth 900 trillion Aurodium ingots, after all.”

“My father doesn’t have that kind of money,” she replied, her voice weak but steady.  “I told you that from the beginning.”

The human raised his eyebrows, amused at her defiance.  “The King of Ploutax, one of the richest planets in the midrim, not have 900 trillion Aurodium ingots to save his daughter, the _beloved_ Princess?  For _shame._ ”

The Twi’lek and the Gamorrean snickered.

“Perhaps he can just get a _loan_.  Or perhaps the people of Ploutax will gladly donate everything they own to have their beloved Princess returned to them.”  He grinned, maliciously, showing his sharp eyeteeth, then added, “Returned _whole_ , rather than in several separate shipments.”

“It cannot be done,” she said, shaking her head.  “Either of those choices would destroy the economy of our entire planet.”

“She’s not the dumb schutta she looks,” the human said, almost admiringly, to his companions.  “You begin to glimpse how brilliant my plan _really_ is.  Did you think we went to all this trouble over you just for _credits_?  With the economy of Ploutax collapsed, Black Sun can take over your planet and exploit the Quadrenium ores.”

“My father would never do anything that would hurt our people.”

“Oh, he _can_ and he _will_.  He just needs a little more convincing.”  He regarded her with a cold intensity.  “We are not going to kill you.  _Yet._   Perhaps the pictures of you in chains were not quite convincing enough.”

The girl tried to compose herself, but her voice shook.  “Someone _will_ find me.  It will only be worse for you if I am harmed.”

To this, the three laughed outright like it was a great joke. “That will _never_ happen,” the human male said, smiling, his green eyes hard and shiny. “We built this prison of yours ourselves.”  He gestured to the single door at the end of the room.  “The way out to the surface, five kilometers up, is guarded by three hundred of Black Sun’s finest troops, who would kill anyone stupid enough to set off the alarm.  We, of course, would be well on our way to our second safe house long before the fighting ended.”  He gestured to the opening in the ceiling at the center of the room, directly above a small ship.  “This portal travels for 500 kilometers before coming up to the surface through a cave in the mountains.  No one could possibly find it.   All those who worked to dig it have been permanently silenced.”

As he spoke, she did not say a word, but her mouth slightly trembled.  He smirked in reply.

“Do you begin to understand just who is in control here?” he asked softly, but maliciously.  He picked up her small white hands.  “Perhaps we can remind your father how much he misses you by sending him a little something.  Maybe one of your pretty little fingers, first?”  He gave her fingertip a mocking kiss, and then took it in his mouth, suggestively, for a moment.  The girl shuddered.

“Malagrant, she seems to like that,” mocked the Twi’lek.

The Gammorean added something in his ugly language, and the three of them laughed.

Malagrant smiled viscously, “Aren’t you wondering what he just said?”

She shook her head, her mouth trembling from fear.

“He said…” Malagrant paused, so he could savor her expression, “we should find out for ourselves just how many Aurodium ingots you’re worth.  And I agree.”  He reached down and grabbed at the neck of her dress.  She tried to pull away despite being bound, but the Gammorean was suddenly gripping her hard, pulling her bound arms over her head.  The girl screamed, in pain and fear.

Suddenly, from the darkness of the tube above, came a young man in a plain brown robe.  He did not fall, but rotated in space, and landed, gracefully, on his feet.  He illuminated his blue lightsaber instantaneously.

It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“ _Kriff!_ ” Malagrant shouted, pulling out his blaster.  He fired a few shots in succession, but the graceful motion of the blue blade deflected all of them perfectly.

At that moment, the shrill siren of alarms sounded.  An automated voice came over the system.  “Warning.  An intruder has been detected on the surface.  Warning.”

“That’s strange.  I thought I was at least five kilometers below the surface,” Obi-Wan remarked, to no one in particular.

“Kill the kriffing Jedi!” screamed Malagrant, continuing to fire.

All three then fired at Obi-Wan.  Through the field of fire, Obi-Wan moved, seemingly effortlessly, dodging and twisting and deflecting, no fear or anger in his face, only a grim determination.

Obi-Wan reached the Twi’lek first.  While continuing to deflect the rapid blaster bolts, in one elegant motion he kicked the blaster from the Twi’lek’s hand.

Malagrant shifted behind Obi-Wan, attempting to aim towards his back.  At Malagrant’s first shots from his new position, Obi-Wan somersaulted backwards so the blaster fire took the Twi’lek in the chest.  The Twi’lek slammed into the stone wall, and he slid down, dead.

The Gammorean, seeing that blasters were useless, threw his blaster down and rushed Obi-Wan, swinging his fists.

“ _Not_ a good idea,” Obi-Wan said, calmly.

The Gammorean, paying Obi-Wan no heed, kept charging.  With a subtle gesture of his left hand, Obi-Wan reached out with the Force to the discarded blaster, and sent it flying into the Gammorean’s head.  At the contact the Gammorean groaned and fell forwards, unconscious.

Obi-Wan sighed, “I _told_ you it wasn’t a good idea.”

Malagrant had rushed to the wall and quickly released the Princess from her chains, but her hands were still bound.  He was dragging her in front of him, using her body as a shield, as he desperately made his way to the ship.  With his left hand, Malagrant grabbed the Princess by her long blonde hair, pulling her neck cruelly back so Obi-Wan could see the blaster pressed into her forehead by his right hand.  Her eyes were closed and she was sobbing in fear.

“I have nothing to lose,” he spat.  “I _will_ kill her.”

“I don’t think so,” corrected Obi-Wan, evenly.  He continued to slowly walk towards Malagrant.

“Have it your way, _kriffer_ ,” Malagrant snarled, squeezing the trigger.

At that instant, Obi-Wan reached out with the Force and yanked Malagrant’s right arm away from the Princess, so the blaster bolt shot wildly into stone ceiling.

Malagrant made a grunt of surprise as the weapon, pulled from his hand, flew through the air.

Obi-Wan then deftly caught the blaster in his left hand.  He glanced at it in disgust.  “How… _uncivilized.”_ He tossed it aside, making a loud clang on the stone floor.

Obi-Wan walked forward again, his glowing lightsaber pointed at Malagrant.

They were now only two meters apart.  A few steps would close the space between them.

Malagrant was clutching the Princess in front of him with both his arms.

“You want her, Jedi, then _take her_!” screamed Malagrant, roughly shoving the Princess forward, so she could be impaled on Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.

But instead of falling on the blade, she fell in Obi-Wan’s arms.

A primitive animal sound came from Malagrant’s mouth, the last breath of air escaping his lungs as he fell back.  The blade of the lightsaber had pierced him straight through the chest, where Obi-Wan had thrown it with flawless and lethal accuracy.

As Malagrant hit the ground, the impact pulled his hand, still clutching a small blaster, out of his tunic pocket.

Obi-Wan helped the Princess to her feet.  “Allow me?” he asked, gently, indicating her wrists.  He called his lightsaber back to him, and used it to carefully cut the wires digging into her wrists before powering it down.

There was a soft hum as the door in the room started to open.

Obi-Wan immediately reactivated his lightsaber, assuming a defensive stance.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded the Princess, softly.

When the door fully opened, it revealed Master Dooku.

Obi-Wan sheepishly deactivated his lightsaber.

Dooku raised a single eyebrow, which was enough to rebuke Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan grinned at his Master.  “It certainly took you long enough.”

“Obi-Wan,” Dooku said, affecting utter exasperation, “if you multiply the number _you_ took down by one hundred, you will arrive at the number _I_ had to deal with, so you must excuse me for being _tardy_.”

“I deal in _quality_ , not quantity.  And _I_ wasn’t clumsy enough to set off the alarm.”

“ _Clumsy_?” Dooku repeated, as if mortally offended.  “I was merely creating a distraction for you.”  He paused.  “And the alarm didn’t help them.  _Much_.”

The Princess was still clutching Obi-Wan, her body shaking and trembling with fear and cold.

Obi-Wan pulled off his coarse brown robe and put it around her.  She stopped shaking.

“You are safe now,” Obi-Wan said, kindly.  “It is over.”

Dooku had his foot in the small of the back of the Gammorean, who was now coming to.  “I suppose we can give this one to the authorities,” he said, his expression one of distaste.

The Princess was wiping her eyes and nose with a corner of Obi-Wan’s robe.  He noticed, giving her a bemused smile, but was too polite to comment on it.

Realizing he was watching her, she quickly dropped the corner of the robe and attempted to regain her composure, straightening up and lifting her head.

“My people will be most grateful to you.  We will give you whatever reward you desire,” she said, formally.

Obi-Wan looked down at her, in surprise.  He shook his head, frowning, almost as if he were offended.  “That will not be necessary.”

Dooku spoke, “My Lady, we desire only the good.  We want nothing else.”

Obi-Wan smiled and inclined his head in agreement.

 

 

And the song grew ever more powerful, for now millions of lives resonated with it…

 

 

 A middle aged human, heavily muscled, but his dark hair receding, was leading two men into the ship.

Both of his guests had their faces concealed by the hoods of their robes, as if they wished their presence to be a matter of secrecy.

One man was much older than the other, for his back was bent with age and he walked with great difficulty.  He leaned heavily on his companion, gripping his arm, seemingly unable to walk without such assistance.  In his other hand, he held a cane.  He was wearing a dark red robe, simply cut but of obviously very expensive material.  On his left hand, the hand holding the cane, he wore a large ruby.

The younger man was dressed in blue-violet robes heavily embroidered with gold, his sleeves so long and billowing as to be faintly ridiculous.  His walk was also fashionable, an affected languid motion of elegance.  He was assisting the other man with barely concealed impatience, pausing every so often to give a theatrical sigh.

The older man hit the side of the ship with his cane as he walked through the hatch, which caused it to ring with a resounding clang.  “Most impressive, Quaterno,” he said.  The balding man’s only response was to wince.

The crippled man repeated, “ _Most_ impressive.  Do you not think so, Tantrist?”

“Yes, Father,” the younger man said, dutifully, with no effort to conceal his boredom.

“She can make the Kessel run in 12 parsecs!” Quaterno boasted.

The old man cackled, “What about the _spice_ , man?  The spice!”

“It is Carsunum, of the highest quality.”

“That’s from… Sevaracaros… is it not?”

“Not _Sevaracaros_ , _Sevarcos_.  Sevarcos II, to be precise,” Quaterno corrected, smiling tightly.

“Yes, now I remember.  I was there, years ago.  Very _entertaining_ place.”

“I doubt you would find it so, my Lord,” Quaterno snapped, losing his patience, “for it is a mining colony.”

The old man poked him in the chest with his cane.  If he meant it to be threatening, it was an absurd attempt, since he was so unsteady on his feet he almost knocked himself over in the process.  “I am not a _Lord_ , but a _Count_.  Any commoner with money can fancy himself a lord.  But _I_ have the blood of hundreds of generations of the highest nobility, dating back to the defeat of Darth Malak!”

The younger man let out another dramatic sigh.  He said to Quaterno, in a sympathetic aside, “You must _excuse_ my father,” he drawled lazily, yawning.  “He does… _go on_ sometimes.”

“You certainly enjoy the privileges of nobility, with your drinking and your carousing, and your sordid _amusements_!” snarled the old man, turning on his son.  “You would think you would have more appreciation of our family history!”

The young man gave Quaterno a small ironic shrug with one shoulder, as if this was typical behavior.

Not wishing to get into a family quarrel, Quaterno ignored the exchange and went on.  “As I was saying, _Count_ , this ship is holding close to ten tonnes of the finest Carsunum spice.  I have many more… experienced buyers who will purchase it, but as Ayaa the Hutt will vouch for you—”

“And as we can pay upfront,” countered the old man, shrewdly.

“Yes, that _is_ a benefit,” Quaterno conceded.  “But I normally do not do business with newcomers, considering my trade.  In any case, I can sell it to you for twenty million credits.  This, of course, will include packaging and delivery.”

“How about seeing it first?’

“Seeing it?  Do you not trust me?”

“I don’t settle business without seeing the items first.”

“You must understand, I usually do not—”

“Well, I shall have to tell Ayaa that I will have to take my business elsewhere,” the old man said, his voice quavering with indignation.  “He will not be pleased to lose _me_ as a business associate, I can tell you that.  And after such boasts, ‘I can get you into the spice business, I have _connections._ ’  But all I see is—”

“Please _indulge_ my father’s wishes, Quaterno,” the young man interrupted.  “I _must_ get back home for my massage.”

“Very well,” Quaterno agreed, reluctantly.  He went to the control panel at the wall and keyed in a code.

On the deck plate adjacent to where they were standing a compartment door slid open.  Underneath they could see the glinting pale brown-white of the spice.

“I assure you it is of the finest quality,” Quaterno said, haughtily.  “Carsunum spice is considered by some users even better than Glitterstim, and it is equally addictive.  Would you care for a sample?”

The young man turned his head, fully attentive for the first time.

His father noticed his reaction.  “Wastrel!” snapped the old man, cuffing his son on the side of the head.

“You are messing up my hair!” whined the young man.

“I will mess up more than that, you spoiled infant!” threatened the old man.

“ _No_ sample, then,” Quaterno continued, still smiling, but a vein pulsed in his forehead.  “We will be packaging the spice in our secure warehouse in the capital city, and then we will transfer it to its target location in several shipments.”

“Sounds unreliable to me,” carped the old man.  “What kind of shaky operation is this?  If you get caught transferring the spice from the ship to your warehouse, I will be out my credits!”

“Do not worry, old man, your credits will be safe.  The patrols know better than to try and stop _me_.”

“And _why_ is that?”

“Because, my dear Count, I have more than half the governors of this planet in my pocket.”

“Dung!” shouted the old man, poking him again with his cane.  “Dung _twice!_ Name _one!_ ”

“I can do better than that, _Count!_ ” retorted Quaterno, finally losing his temper.  “Vanton Vyx!  Dalon Ultulu!  And Avat Y’torrin!”

The old man nodded his head slowly, impressed.  “Three of the five planetary governors.  They are all on your payroll?”

“Yes,” said Quaterno, smugly.  “Are you _now_ satisfied?”

“ _Very._ ”

The Count suddenly ceased to be a ridiculous old man.  He straightened up, and the hood of his robe fell back, revealing black eyes that were cold and steady.  In a swift movement he pulled a long, thin, double-edged blade from the handle of his cane, and held it to Quaterno’s throat.

Quaterno then did something surprising.

He laughed.

Through the door of the ship came ten heavily armed henchmen, consisting of various races, including a green-skinned Abyssin.  They were wearing battle armor and carrying heavy artillery blasters.

Their blasters were aimed right at the two men.

“Opening the bin set off the silent alarm,” Quaterno spat.  “I never do business with new customers without a backup plan.”

“We have _that_ in common,” replied the younger man, dryly.  No longer a slouched and yawning young fop, he tackled Quaterno in a motion astonishingly fast, causing them both to fall into the bin of Carsunum spice.

The older man followed his lead, and gracefully leapt into the cargo hold.  When he landed, he went to stand beside his young companion, who had Quaterno pinned securely against the side of the hold.

“Let him go,” one of the henchmen demanded, “or I will shoot!”

“No!” screamed Quaterno.

“Quite right,” agreed the old man, acidly, with a smile.  Standing knee-deep in spice, and with the slightly pedantic air of an old schoolmaster instructing his pupils, he addressed the henchmen, who still had their blasters aimed at him.  “Carsunum spice, while highly addictive and most pleasurable, has the unfortunate property of being _quite_ explosive.  On Sevarcos II, blasters are never used, as a single discharge could cause a massive explosion.”

“As I said, he _does_ go on.” the younger man said, almost apologetically to Quaterno.

But the elder man had clearly made his point, as some of the blasters aiming at them wavered.

“Ayaa will pay for introducing me to you thieves!” swore Quaterno.

“Not thieves,” corrected the old man, coolly.  “Let me introduce myself.  I am Master Dooku.  Formerly _Count_ of Serenno,” Dooku said with an ironic bow to his head.  “And my companion, who has you firmly in his grip, is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said, amicably, to Quaterno.

Dooku continued. “You are now under arrest.”

Suddenly, the Abyssin jumped into the cargo hold.  His landing kicked Spice into Obi-Wan’s eyes and mouth, and the Abyssin swiftly kicked Obi-Wan’s left shin with one of his large booted feet.

The sudden spasm of intense pain made Obi-Wan lose the firmness of his grip for a moment, and Quaterno slid from Obi-Wan’s grasp.  Quaterno quickly pulled from his pocket a thermal detonator, which he armed with a sudden click, causing it to whine ominously.  His finger was on the dead-man’s trigger.

“I will never let you take me alive,” Quaterno snarled.

“And people pay good credits for this stuff,” Obi-Wan exclaimed in disgust to his Master, while still coughing and wiping his eyes.

Dooku shrugged.  “ _You_ were the one who wanted the free sample.”

“Your _answer_ , Jedi.  You either let me go, or we will all die together,” warned Quaterno, who smiled through gritted teeth.  “We are at a stalemate.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

The Padawan met the eyes of his Master, and then added, with a smile, “But _I_ had a very good chess teacher.”

Obi-Wan reached out with the Force to spray Quaterno in the eyes with Spice.  In the moment Quaterno was blinded, Dooku dropped his sword and appeared suddenly at Quaterno’s side.  Dooku put his hand over Quaterno’s, placing his finger firmly over the dead man’s trigger.  Pulling it away from the still blinded Quaterno, Dooku took the detonator in his own hand, and with a self-satisfied expression on his face, deactivated it with a definitive click.

The Abyssin then lunged at Dooku, but he clutched only at empty air. The Jedi Master had somersaulted back, and then, using the Force, leapt up and out of the cargo hold, illuminating his lightsaber. Once Dooku was clear of the explosive spice, the henchmen immediately opened fire on him, only to find all their blasts rapidly deflected by the glowing sweep of his blade.

In the cargo hold, Obi-Wan was fending off both Quaterno and the Abyssin.  Quaterno had managed to secure Dooku’s discarded blade and was attempting to stab and slash Obi-Wan with it.  The Abyssin ominously circled the Jedi, sending the occasional jab and kick.  But while the knee deep Spice hindered the smugglers movements, the sandy substance did not impede Obi-Wan, who was lightly walking on the surface of the Spice.  Obi-Wan dodged each blow and each slash with ease, his movements exceedingly fast.

With a frustrated roar, the Abyssin attempted to rush Obi-Wan, and Quaterno, seeing a distraction, lunged at Obi-Wan with the blade from the opposite side.  Obi-Wan, prepared for such a strategy, leapt over Quaterno.  Quaterno attempted to stop his attack, but lost his balance, and plunged his blade into the Abyssin’s abdomen.  The Abyssin screamed in pain as he dropped to his knees, and then collapsed into the Spice.

Obi-Wan then leapt up out of the cargo hold, pulled his hidden lightsaber out from his foppish sleeves, illuminated it midair, and then landed besides his Master. In rapid motion the two Jedi started deflecting the blaster bolts with perfect synchronicity, their humming lightsabers arcs of glowing light. It was a beautiful sight, but the henchmen could not appreciate it, as they were rapidly dropping one by one.

Quaterno, still in the cargo hold, looked up at the fight above.  Both Jedi had their backs to him.  He picked up the Abyssin’s blaster, aimed carefully for between Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades, and fired.

Sensing danger, Obi-Wan turned at the very last instant, and deflected the blaster bolt with his lightsaber.

The blaster bolt was deflected into the hold of Carsunum spice.

For the two Jedi, drawing upon the Force for the power of celerity, the moment before the explosion was extended in time.  Obi-Wan and Dooku, as if of one mind, leapt into the air, rotated in space above the henchmen, and landed by the hatch.  In the next instant, they threw themselves out of the hatch, riding the compression wave of the explosion.

They landed thirty feet from the ship, now a massive fireball.  The air inside the hangar reeked with the smells of fire suppression chemicals and burned Spice.

Obi-Wan and Dooku rose to their feet, watching the burning ship.

“I do not sense any survivors,” Obi-Wan said, matter-of-factly.

Dooku sighed, “So much for arresting them.  It will save the trouble and expense of a trial, at least.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “And we obtained the names of the corrupt governors.” He pulled off his cloak, revealing the holorecorder strapped to his utility belt underneath. “At least this ridiculous outfit was good for _something_.”

Dooku regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then intoned, solemnly, “Oh, I don’t know.  I think it is actually very _flattering_.  Brings out the color of your eyes.”

“Thank you, _Father,_ ” drawled Obi-Wan, in the affected intonation of the jaded young nobleman.  “I so _value_ your opinion.”

“Of _that_ I have no doubt, _Son,_ ” Dooku replied, equally sarcastic.  He then went on, more seriously, “The information we obtained today will not be enough to arrest the governors… _yet._   But it _is_ a beginning.  There is still, however, much to do.”

“I am surprised you got him to give up the names so easily.  I never would have predicted it.”

Dooku shrugged, “I suppose he believed my acting.”

“He believed you were an _irritable_ , _humorless_ , _foul-tempered_ old man?” Obi-Wan asked, incredulously, eyes wide.  He then added, not missing a beat, “That’s _not_ acting.”

They laughed together, as the ship continued to burn.

 

 

Dooku and Kenobi, the Master and the Padawan, the galaxy resounding with praise…

 

 

Crowds filled the streets of the city.  There must have been thousands filling the walkways, and there was the barely contained excitement of a holiday parade.

“Jedi… Jedi… Jedi…” they chanted in unison, the surge of sound tremendous and incredible.

Dooku and Obi-Wan moved through the crowd.  Obi-Wan was keeping pace with his Master despite walking with a pronounced limp, favoring his left leg.

Though the crowd parted for them, those near enough reached to touch the Jedi as they passed.  An elderly woman sobbed and fell upon Dooku’s hand, kissing it.

“Please do not kneel to me,” Dooku murmured, not harshly, moving his hands away.

On they walked, politely ignoring the adoring hands touching their robes, their hands, and their hair.

As Obi-Wan stepped up on an elevated walkway, he slightly faulted, stumbling on his injured leg.  In an instant, with Jedi celerity, Dooku grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm to support him.

“You should have placed more bacta on the wound,” Dooku chided, sternly.

“It is nothing,” shrugged Obi-Wan.  “I can see to it later.”

An opulently dressed man, riding above the crowd in a litter carried by six strong-armed men, called for his servants to stop.  He climbed down and approached Obi-Wan, bowing.  “I would be greatly honored if you would ride in my litter.  My servants will gladly carry you the rest of the way.  You need it far more than I.”  Those close enough to hear cheered wildly.

Obi-Wan turned to the man, smiling but shaking his head, “Thank you, but no.  I will walk with my Master.”

The two Jedi passed under a building, and flowers drifted down upon them.  Above, young girls were hanging out the window, calling Obi-Wan’s name.  A few had signs proclaiming their love for him.  Other signs conveyed marriage proposals.

“Good thing it was your leg you injured, and not your pretty face,” Dooku said, sourly.

Obi-Wan frowned, “Don’t be ridiculous.  They know as a Jedi I must remain chaste.”

As he said this, one of the girls blew Obi-Wan a suggestive kiss, leaning out the window so he could get a better look at her cleavage.

Dooku raised his eyebrows, “Perhaps you need to remind them.”

“You’re just jealous,” Obi-Wan countered, smiling.

_“Hardly.”_

Obi-Wan was cut off from responding, for as they approached the raised dais there was a sudden increase in volume of the crowd’s chant of, “Jedi… Jedi… Jedi…”

The dais was blindingly bright under a midday sun that cast no shadows.  On the dais, there was a simple ivory-backed chair.  On it sat a beautiful woman in her thirties, with long, wavy red hair, on which was a simple crown set with flashing jewels.

There was the sound of a shrill trumpet, and a man before the dais stood and proclaimed, “The High Queen of Taris, Hypatia.”  There were floating HoloNet cameras and amplifying devices aimed at the dais, so his announcement was seen and heard by all on the giant screens set up throughout the square.  As the Queen rose from her chair and regally waved, there was a tremendous roar throughout the crowd.

Dooku, unimpressed, said under his breath to Obi-Wan, “Hopefully this ceremony will not take too long.  We need to get back to Coruscant, and I will never hear the end of it from Qui-Gon if for once _I’m_ the one late filing a report to the Council.”

The High Queen approached the two Jedi, and then took Dooku in her right hand and Obi-Wan with her left.  She led them to the center of the dais, and indicated they should face the crowd.  She then gracefully went down on one knee, bowing her head in supplication before them.  The crowd screamed their approval.

Hypatia then took Dooku’s hand in both of hers, and brought his hand towards her mouth to kiss.  Before she could do so, Dooku gripped her hands in his, and elegantly but emphatically pulled the High Queen to her feet.

The High Queen then addressed them both, her voice broadcast throughout the crowd.  “How can the people of Taris thank you, noble Jedi?  Without your bravery and wisdom, the gangs of the Lower City would have utterly destroyed the Upper City when they sought to conquer us.

“Despite your mandate to only advise our leaders, you instead chose to personally lead us in the assault.  Then, you broke through the enemy line, fought your way to the leaders of the gangs, and slew them single-handedly, saving our troops from being needlessly slaughtered.”

There was a tremendous roar from the crowd, and the clapping of hands and stamping of feet.  The crowd picked up the chant of, “Jedi… Jedi… Jedi…” once more.  Hypatia held up her hands, silently asking them to desist.

“With the death of their leaders, the gangs peacefully surrendered.  Your actions ended the gang violence that has plagued Taris for hundreds of years, saving untold lives.  There can be no reward great enough for your deeds, and I know the Jedi will not take one.  Still, the people demand I ask.  Is there not a gift the people of Taris could give you in our gratitude?”

The cry of, “Jedi… Jedi… Jedi…” was taken up again.  The High Queen gestured for Dooku to address the crowd.

Dooku inclined his head courteously to her, and then said, “I thank you, and the people of Taris.  But we do not require anything in return, for it was our _duty_ to kill them.  They were set upon evil.  In true service to the good, it is imperative that those who do evil be eliminated.”

At his words, the cheering grew so that Dooku had to wait before continuing.

“And as to a reward, the High Queen is correct.  Jedi are not permitted to accept them.”

To this, the crowd booed loudly.  Dooku impatiently held up his hands to the crowd, so he could go on without interruption.

“However, _this_ time we will make an exception.”  The crowd’s boos instantly transformed to the loudest cheers yet.  Again, the crowd’s cheers were too great for Dooku to immediately continue.  Dooku glanced at his Padawan, and, at Obi-Wan’s shocked expression, Dooku had the slight suggestion of a smile.

When the cheering finally subsided, the Queen responded, proudly, “You have heard the people.  You have only to wish it.”

Dooku again addressed the crowd.  “In the very lowest parts of the city, the dark Undercity, live millions of people who are never allowed to see the light of day.  Their only ‘crime’ is to be descendants of rebels and criminals who were exiled hundreds of years ago.  This is unjust.  We request they be returned from exile.”

To this, there was a murmuring in the crowd, particularly from the well-dressed citizens.

The poorer citizens, however, cheered loudly, and once more took up the cry, “Jedi… Jedi… Jedi…”

Dooku ignored the various reactions, and continued.  “In addition, we request of you to change your city’s policies against non-humans.  A truly just society would not allow segregation of its peoples, forcing non-humans to live in the impoverished Lower Cities.  It is these conditions which brought forth the gangs my Padawan and I eradicated.”

The murmuring in the crowd grew louder, and angrier, while the chants of praise grew fainter.

Dooku looked expectantly at the Queen.  Hypatia stood quietly for a moment with an expression akin to shock on her face.  She quickly recovered her composure, and said, graciously, “We will, of course, be more than happy to honor your requests.  The Council and I will study systems in which we can slowly incorporate your suggestions.”

“We thank you,” Dooku said, crisply.  “Upon our return to Coruscant we will have Jedi sent back to Taris to help implement these policy changes.”

With that, Dooku strode off the dais, with Obi-Wan limping close behind.  The crowd parted for them, as before, but instead of the harmonious cheering there was now the discordant noise of complaints and heated arguments.

Dooku shook his head in barely concealed contempt, and then spoke softly so only his Padawan could hear.  “You see now how truly meaningless it is to be singled out for praise, or for blame?  Public opinion is _worthless_.  It is the _work_ that matters.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Still, if we weren’t their beloved heroes, you would have never been able to ask for your ‘reward.’  And that was a wonderful idea you had Master, to use it for the good.”

“ _I_ thought so, too,” Dooku answered, smiling as if pleased with himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku and his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, are sent to resolve the blockade the Trade Federation has imposed on the planet Naboo.

And the praise of the galaxy grew ever louder, the millions of voices speaking as one.

_Dooku and Kenobi…_

  

Dooku stood before the Senate, his floating platform in front of and just below the Chancellor’s rostra.  Although dressed in the simple concealing robes of the Jedi, he had an upright and authoritarian bearing becoming of a prince.  His silver hair, cropped short, gleamed in the brightness of the overhead light.  His dark eyes missed nothing.  They roamed the room, searching out the Senators, compelling their attention.

To Dooku’s right stood Obi-Wan.  He was still a young man, but had a grave and serious expression of someone considerably older.  Though watched by thousands of Senators, Obi-Wan was unaffected, his focus utterly on his Master.

In one of the Senatorial boxes attached to the sides of the rotunda, an extraordinarily fat Twi’lek with oily green skin yawned loudly and turned to the human next to him.  “The old man and the boy.  Hmmpf.  I hope this is interesting, although I doubt it,” he said, while preparing to lie back in his chair for a nap.

“On the contrary, I think it will be _most_ interesting,” corrected his companion, thoughtfully.  He was also a Senator, one from an insignificant world, if his unimpressive dress was any indicator.  He was middle aged, with wavy red hair heavily salted with gray, a prominent nose, and light bulbous eyes.  As a perfect contrast to his Twi’lek companion, he had a remarkable astuteness in his expression.  “It is not every day the Senate invites a Jedi to speak.”

“Oh, it’s only for the HoloNet,” shrugged the Twi’lek, indicating the floating cameras on the Senate floor.  “The old man and the boy are quite popular with the people, you know.  Our _Glorious_ Heroes of the Manaan Conflict.  The Chancellor hopes their speech before the Senate will give the reassuring illusion of morality to his decaying regime.”

“As if a speech could erase those financial irregularities from people’s memory,” scoffed the human.

“You might be surprised.  It _is_ Dooku and Obi-Wan, after all.”

“I have heard rumors the Jedi Order is not pleased by their popularity.  I am surprised the Jedi Council authorized Dooku to speak before the Senate.”

“I understand the Chancellor was _quite_ insistent,” sniffed the Twi’lek.

The human started to respond, but stopped as the blue-skinned Chagrian Speaker gave the floor to Master Dooku.  The Senate hall became utterly silent, an event most unusual.  When Dooku spoke, his strong deep voice was clear and steady, without pause, as if he was merely teaching younglings in the Temple, rather than speaking in front of thousands of Senators.

“What should be the goal of the Republic?  The goal of the Republic should be to free all sentient beings from the long reign of pain and tyranny.

“The innocent suffer under the brute force of the strong, without hope of respite.  Virtue?  Merely platitudes, meaningless words without action.  The rule of law?  No longer the instrument of justice, but rather the advantage of the strong.  We have forgotten the true meanings of these ideals.  We speak of such things with mockery, as if we have become too clever to believe in anything other than expedience, profit, and selfishness.  We call our cynical attitude ‘pragmatism,’ as if _that_ were a virtue.  But it is not.

“We must return the Republic to the ideals by which it was founded.  Entrust again the Republic to the care of justice and to virtue, which are perfect and eternal, as opposed to the care of mortal beings, corrupt and transitory.

“This struggle is the contest between the Light and the Dark.  This is the only true battle that exists, and allows no place between.  The time has come when we must choose the Light, or be consumed by Darkness.

“There will be suffering and sacrifice for the cause of virtue, but that should not dissuade us, for only thus shall we become truly worthy of our awesome responsibility as citizens of the Republic.  And through our efforts the Republic will eclipse the glory of all the civilizations which have come before, the terror of oppressors, the consolation of the oppressed, and the illuminating light of the galaxy.”

As Dooku fell silent, there was applause throughout the chamber.  Some was merely polite, and some, most notably near the HoloNet cameras, was enthusiastic.  The Jedi’s platform moved aside for the next speaker, but remained near the Rostra, as if to indicate the two Jedi, raised on high, were looking down in approval as the Senate conducted their usual business.  The majority of Senators resumed talking amongst themselves, as the next discussion dealt with the issues of trade routes and taxation.

The fat Twi’lek again yawned.  “Master Dooku does speak eloquently, I will give him that.  He should give up being a Jedi and take up politics.”

“No.  He believes everything he says,” corrected the human, quietly.  His eyes were still focused on Dooku.

“Rather amusing, don’t you think?” the Twi’lek snorted, not perceiving his companion’s tone.

“No.  I find it disturbing.”

“I find it disturbing his speech kept me from my nap.  But I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

“If you take the time to interpret his ideas of virtue and suffering, it is not politics, but something altogether different.  They are not merely his beliefs, but his _cause_.”

“He is a Jedi.  They think in absolutes, do they not?  Hardly surprising.”

The human shook his head.  “This is different.  Men driven by causes are _dangerous_.”  He paused.  “I would not like to be his enemy.”

The Twi’lek raised an eyebrow.  “He is just a harmless do-gooder.  Popular, to be sure, but a Jedi.  He has no interest in politics.”

“Perhaps,” the human said, doubtfully.

The two then sat in silence, the expression on the human’s face difficult to read.  The Twi’lek turned to his friend, jocularly slapped him on the back, and said, breaking the silence, “At least the speeches _here_ are more interesting than the ones on your little backwater planet.”

The human nodded, thoughtfully, still looking at Dooku.  “Yes.  _Most_ interesting.”

 

 

Yoda could not help but agree with the human senator.

‘ _Men driven by causes are **dangerous**._’

Yoda wondered for a moment whom that human Senator was.  Certainly an unimportant one, a mere cog in the great machine of galactic government, but yet his pale eyes had been coolly perceptive, cutting to the core of Dooku’s words.

 _Clever that one is,_ Yoda thought…

 

 

There were two Jedi in the Council chamber.  One was Plo Koon, with the raspy hiss of his breathing mask distinctly loud in the quiet room.  The other was Mace Windu, much older, his face harshly masculine, and his head surprisingly bald.

“What did the Chancellor want that required such secrecy?”  Plo Koon asked.

“He has a mission for us,” Mace Windu said, shortly.  “One he does not wish the Senate to know about.”

“Which means this is an _illegal_ mission.  I presume it concerns the blockade?”

“Yes.  He wants us to send Jedi to negotiate.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That we would send someone.”

Plo Koon looked at Mace Windu with new respect. “I’m surprised you would condone an illegal mission.”

“You shouldn’t be. Jedi negotiation is the best hope to avoid a war.”

“I say we authorize _more_ than negotiation,” Plo Koon said, bluntly.  “They really have gone too far this time.  How can they justify blockading an entire planet over Republic taxation?”

“They _can_ because it is legal.”

Plo Koon snorted, “The Senate has made all sorts of thievery legal.”

Mace Windu heavily sighed.  “Our antagonists have the side of the law, and we are breaking it.  This is a sign of the darkness that pervades politics.

“Regardless, this matter must be handled with extreme delicacy. Not only is this situation very explosive, if the Senate finds out the Chancellor involved the Jedi…”

“They will have his blood,” Plo Koon finished, brusquely.  “Who will you send?”

“Master Dooku and Obi-Wan.”

“Our golden heroes,” Plo Koon said, sarcastically.  “Who else?”

“Actually, I had to convince the Chancellor they would be the best choice.  He wanted Master Qui-Gon.”

“He would be _my_ choice as well.  There is no one better than Qui-Gon at defusing dangerous situations.”  Plo Koon laughed, the sound amplified in his breath mask.  “Within a week Qui-Gon would have those greedy blockading bastards _begging_ the Senate to make _blockades_ illegal!”

“Yes, he _could_ ,” Mace Windu agreed, grudgingly.  “But, I do not entirely trust him where politics are involved.  Over the years, especially since taking that Padawan of his, he has become less and less concerned with what he describes as mere ‘incidentals.’  _This_ time, such ‘incidentals’ as senatorial politics could explode and destroy the Chancellor’s regime.  Not to mention discredit the Jedi Order.”

“Politics are overrated,” Plo Koon said, contemptuously.

“I see why you and Qui-Gon are such good friends.” Mace Windu said this with a smile to take the sting out of his words.  “And now you see why _you_ would not be my first choice, either.”

“And I am glad of it.  I suppose if discretion and restraint are crucial, Master Dooku and Obi-Wan are a good choice.  Those two are certainly masters of self-control.”

“You are not saying it as a complement,” Mace Windu said, as an observation.

“And I don’t mean it as one.  They are great Jedi, certainly, but detachment is one thing.  Indifference another.”

Mace Windu sighed, refusing to take up the point.  “In any case, their status as galactic heroes may give added leverage to the talks.”

“I hope you are right.”

 

 

Yoda smiled, thinking of Qui-Gon taking another Padawan.

But he did not understand why Mace Windu spoke so harshly against Qui-Gon.  Did the Force show him this vision for Qui-Gon’s sake?

But why not show him Qui-Gon? For certainly the _mission_ was not of importance…

 

 

Dooku was standing beside Obi-Wan before a window that overlooked the darkness of space.  Below them was a green-gray planet, fleecy with clouds.  In the southern hemisphere, the spiral of a storm swirled like a baleful eye.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said.

“What do you mean?”

“It is not about the mission, Master.  Something… elsewhere… elusive.”

Dooku nodded, “I agree.  This is something other than a simple trade dispute.  I sense a tremendous amount of fear for something this trivial.”

A silver protocol droid entered the room through the lone door and offered them drinks, which were silently refused.  As the droid turned to leave, Obi-Wan called to it.

“TC-14, that is your designation, is it not?”

“Yes, Sir.  How else may I assist you?”

“We have been waiting here for quite some time.  Do you know how much longer your Master will have us wait?”

“I’m not sure, Sir.  He is receiving an urgent transmission.  I believe he will be with you when that is completed.”

“Thank you, TC-14.”

As the droid walked towards the door, Dooku spoke, with urgency in his voice.  “Obi-Wan, it is necessary for us to hear that conversation.”

TC-14 turned back towards the Jedi.  “But, Sirs, my Master wishes for you to remain here until your audience.”

Dooku and Obi-Wan ignored the droid, and started towards the door.

As Dooku approached the door it silently slid open.  Glancing outside for a moment, Dooku motioned for his Padawan to follow him into the hallway.  It was a long corridor, well lit by artificial lighting, and utterly silent.

“Obi-Wan, I presume you memorized the layout of the ship before we arrived?”

“Of course, Master.”

“Then lead the way to the Bridge.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and started through the curving decks, swiftly and without hesitation, Dooku close behind.

Suddenly, they both came to an abrupt halt, igniting their lightsabers a moment before the sound of an explosion echoed through the hallway.

Obi-Wan turned back to his Master, and stated, calmly, “They’ve destroyed our ship.”

“Yes.  They’ve decided to eliminate us.  Let us make haste.”

Obi-Wan continued to lead the way, still silently, but now more rapidly, his expression alert.

After the second turn, Dooku called to Obi-Wan in a whisper so low only a Jedi with Force enhanced senses could have heard him.  “Someone’s coming.”

They quickly ducked into a side corridor and waited.  In the corridor they just vacated, but in the opposite direction, walked a Neimodian with a strange conical hat.  He was shaking his head distressfully, blinking his large red eyes, muttering something about “stunted slime.”  He was completely oblivious to everything around him.

Dooku motioned with a gesture of his hand toward the Neimodian.  Obi-Wan nodded.

The two Jedi moved so silently the Neimodian had no time to cry out before Dooku’s lightsaber was at his throat.

“Please, please do not hurt me,” the Neimodian blubbered, his legs shaking.  “I have nothing to do with it, I swear!”

“Nothing to do with _what_?” Dooku demanded.

The Neimodian squeaked, “The invasion!”

“The invasion?” Obi-Wan repeated, incredulously.  “You mean to say you are mobilizing troops to the planet?”

When the Nemodian hesitated, Dooku snapped, “Answer him.”

“No, I mean, it is planned, but I have nothing to do with it!” the Nemodian cried.  “Please do not hurt me!”

“Master, we have company,” Obi-Wan said, indicating the platoon of droid troopers marching in their direction.  He illuminated his lightsaber and assumed a defensive stance between the oncoming troopers and his Master.

“I know your type,” Dooku continued his impromptu interrogation.  “You Nemodians are cowards.  You would never do this on your own.  Who is behind it?”

“I… I do not know,” the Nemodian managed to stutter between cries.

As one, the droid troopers came to a halt and opened fire.  Obi-Wan repelled the blaster fire with elegant strokes.

“You are lying,” Dooku hissed.  “You will tell the truth.  Or pay the price.”

The Nemodian, now shaking with fear, his eyes closed and his mouth trembling, stammered, “I told them we could never go against the Jedi.  I _told_ them…”

Obi-Wan was still deflecting the blaster bolts.  During a pause in the blaster fire, he lifted his hand, and, with a tremendous Force push, caused six of the droid troopers to fly back and slam into a wall.

“Whoever you fear,” Dooku said, ominously, “He is not here.  But _I_ am.  Tell me.”

“It was not me!  It was not me!” screamed the Nemodian.  “I had nothing to do with it.  It was _Him_!”

“Who?”

The Nemodian opened his mouth to answer, and then promptly closed it, shaking his head.  “What he would do to me… Please, I beg you, I will give you anything!”

Dooku, looking at the Nemodian in contempt, lifted him by his collar.  “If you—”

“Master, Destroyers!” Obi-Wan called out in warning.

Two black, spidery droids rolled into their midst.  They unfolded, raised their deflector shields, and began firing rapidly.  Dooku was forced to release the Nemodian and help Obi-Wan against these more powerful droids.  The Nemodian took his chance and ran.

Dooku and Obi-Wan, in elegant unison, deflected the rapid combined fire of the remaining troopers, and the more powerful destroyers. Some of the Jedi’s deflections bounced harmlessly off the blue-purple bubble of the destroyers’ shields, ricocheting wildly in all directions.

“It is a standoff,” Dooku declared.  “There is nothing to be gained here.  We must get to a ship and go down to the surface.  Hopefully we can warn them in time.”

The two Jedi drew upon the Force and ran down the corridor faster than the droids could track them, and disappeared out of sight.

 

 

_Something more to this mission, there is._

Yoda shook his head.  _Or **will** be._

_Shown this I am, in the hope of possible change?_

_Too vague it is._

_Suspect I do obscuring it the Darkness is._

_Find this “Him” I must…_

 

 

Dooku and Obi-Wan were standing before a young woman sitting on a throne in the center of a circular room.  She was dressed strangely, in a rich black dress, stiff with embroidery, and glinting with black sequins.  Her face was heavily painted stark white, accented with red, both on her cheeks and her full upper lip.

Behind her stood three young women, in the aspect of handmaidens, their cloaks shades of warm colors, oranges and yellows, resembling the hearts of flame.

A voice called out from an adjoining room, “We will be within firing distance of the blockade in ten minutes.”

Dooku glanced towards the open door for a moment before turning towards the young woman.  “Your Highness, as we have a few moments before we approach the blockade, I wanted to ask you a question, if I may.”

“You may,” she replied, inclining her head.

“When Obi-Wan and I first arrived on the surface of your planet, we saw an amphibian creature, who appeared to be sentient, as he was wearing clothes.  I have never seen his species before.  Is there a native sentient species on your planet?  I ask because I need to know how they may react to the occupation.  This information could be critical if there is a war.”

She nodded, “Yes, that amphibious being you describe is in fact native to our planet.  I am afraid, however, they would be of no help to us if it comes to war.”

“They are hostile to the human colonists?”

“No.  Although not friendly, it is rare for them to leave their homes underneath the water, and humans rarely encounter them.  I do not know how they would react if the droid army occupies our planet, for anything occurring on land would be of little concern to them.  They are best left alone.  In any case, they are very primitive, with little technology.  I can only hope they will never be discovered by the droid army, as I do not believe they could defend themselves.”

“That was my impression as well.  The individual I saw was actually the first casualty of the invasion, crushed underneath the invading army’s transports.”

“That is horrible,” the young girl said, shuddering.

“That is war,” Dooku said, shrugging.

Another call from the adjoining room, “Five minutes until we are in firing range.”

Dooku again glanced towards the doorway where the voice was coming from, and then back towards the young woman.  “Thank you, your Highness.”  He then turned to Obi-Wan and ordered, curtly, “Obi-Wan, go and assume control of the ship.”

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan stepped towards the door, but stopped when the young woman spoke.  “My pilot is more than capable.”

Dooku shook his head in barely contained exasperation.  “With all due respect to your man, your Highness, my Padawan, besides being an excellent pilot, is also a Jedi.  We will need his sensitivity to the Force if we are to avoid being hit.  One well-placed shot to our hyperdrive activator and we could be stranded on some desolate planet in the Outer Rim.”

Before answering, she quickly glanced to her handmaidens.  “I trust the Jedi,” she said, inclining her head in agreement.  “I am sure you know what is best.”

Dooku jerked his chin edgily at Obi-Wan, who quickly left the chamber, Dooku following.

They entered the rather large cockpit.  Dooku’s voice sounded as a command towards the pilot.  “Her Majesty would like my Padawan to pilot the ship.”

The pilot looked up to Dooku, and immediately vacated the seat, to be replaced by Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan took a moment to familiarize himself with the controls before grabbing the yoke.

Dooku sat down at the navigator’s console.  “Thirty seconds before we enter firing range… fifteen seconds… ten seconds… five seconds.”

At this last warning, Obi-Wan banked sharply to the left, bringing the ship about until they were facing away from the blockade, and back towards the green-gray planet.

“What are you doing?  We are trying to get _away_ from the planet, not crash land on it!” exclaimed the pilot.

“Quiet!  Let him concentrate,” Dooku ordered.

Obi-Wan began evasive maneuvers as small fighters from the blockade pursued them back towards the planet.

“Strap yourselves in,” Obi-Wan called out.  “They’re faster than we are, so my turns will be a bit sharp.”  Almost as if to prove his point, he made a jarring turn to the right.

“All fighters are now in pursuit,” Dooku stated.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan pushed down on the yoke, causing the ship to dive steeply. The blockade fighters, in rapid pursuit, could not correct for the sudden dive, and overshot the descending ship.

Obi-Wan continued to press down on the yoke, the ship trembling as they continued the roll.

“The ship can’t take much more of this!” the pilot shouted.

Obi-Wan pulled back on the yoke to bring it to neutral.  The ship was now on an even keel, heading straight towards the blockade, except now they were flying upside down relative to their original orientation.  The fighters hastily made their own turns, and quickly started to close the distance.

Obi-Wan adjusted their course to head directly towards one of the smaller capital ships that was part of the blockade.

“Are you _crazy_?” exclaimed the pilot. “We can’t attack a capital ship! Our shields can’t withstand that kind of firepower!”

“The capital ship will not fire on us,” Dooku calmly explained. “They are much more likely to hit one of their own fighters that are pursuing us. Obi-Wan, I am sending you the coordinates for the hyperspace jump point to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan briefly glanced at his terminal. “Got it, Master.”

The pursuing fighters had now caught up to their ship. Obi-Wan acutely increased his evasive maneuvers, the ship rising and falling, banking left and right, while maintaining his course towards the capital ship. Obi-Wan’s face was calm, utterly emotionless, as his hands subtly maneuvered the yoke with prodigious speed.  Through the cockpit window, it now seemed as if the ship was flying through a tunnel of laser blasts, for the enemy fighters were rapidly firing hundreds of shots per second, most of which passed harmlessly around them in all directions.  The inside of the ship was unnaturally golden, illuminated by the channel of evaded blasts.  The few shots that managed to land glanced harmlessly off the deflector shields.  At the end of this tunnel of deadly fire was the capital ship, now being barraged by its own fighters’ lasers.  The capital ship, for its part, did not attack, as Dooku had predicted.

They were now close enough to the capital ship to clearly see its viewports.

“Our shields are down to forty percent,” Dooku stated, reading the terminal.

“It will be enough.  Hold on!” Obi-Wan announced.  With that command, he abruptly ceased his evasive maneuvers, holding the yoke in a motionless grip.  In the next instant, the laser tunnel of avoided blasts now disappeared, as the ship shook with the impact of massive fire on their weakened shields.

“We’ve been hit!” screamed the pilot.

Obi-Wan pulled on the yoke, causing the ship to sharply rise.  A tremendous concentrated barrage of laser fire now passed harmlessly beneath them, instead slamming into the capital ship.

“There has been a direct hit to the capital ships’ shield generators.  Their shields are down.  Ours are completely depleted, as well, but we sustained only minor damage,” Dooku asserted.

Obi-Wan nodded, impassively, as he again piloted the ship through the destructive blasts of the pursuing fighters, the strange golden glow of evaded blasts once more illuminating the cockpit.  Each blast now evaded by Obi-Wan slammed into the capital ship, which burned and shuddered with hundreds of separate explosions.

“Their firing systems are now off-line.”  Dooku couldn’t help but smile as he said this.

Obi-Wan, pressing down on the yoke, continued to pilot the ship in a rapid descent directly towards the capital ship.

The pilot cried out, “We’re going to crash!”

But they did not.  At the very last moment, Obi-Wan pulled hard on the yoke, and the ship skimmed the surface of the incapacitated capital ship.  As they descended into the shadow of the severely damaged behemoth, the pursuing fighters abruptly held their fire.

“All fighters are still in pursuit,” Dooku articulated, watching the screen in front of him.

“We will be positioned to enter hyperspace in a few moments,” Obi-Wan said, adjusting the yoke.

Once they reached the far side of the capital ship, Obi-Wan rapidly accelerated away from the blockade.  The enemy fighters, having completed their own circuit around the capital ship, sped after them in a deadly attack formation.

But as the pursuers fired their first shots, Obi-Wan pulled the hyperdrive activator. The stars exploded into lines of light, announcing their successful escape into hyperspace.

The Queen’s pilot looked at Obi-Wan, in amazement, as if the young Jedi were more than human.  “If I had flown… we would have been…”

Dooku looked up from the monitor.  “You are correct,” Dooku answered, bluntly.

 

 

_Few Jedi could that blockade break.  Certainly taught his Padawan well Dooku has.  Showing me, the Force is, Dooku’s Padawan Kenobi should be…_

 

 

Through the window, dusk was falling over Coruscant, everything orange and silver in the evening light.  Reflected in the glass was the young girl’s face.  It was still heavily painted unnaturally white, but in her dark eyes there was anguish.  When she spoke, it was sad and heavy with doubt.  “Senator, this is your arena.  I feel I should return to mine.”

She turned away from the window to regard the man behind her.  It was the same unassuming human senator, who, while sitting with the Twi’lek senator, had commented on Dooku’s speech.

“Go back?  But your Majesty, be realistic, they’ll… they’ll force you to sign the treaty.”

“I will sign no treaty, Senator.  My fate should be no different than that of our people.  I’m just not certain whether or not our people would be safer if I return.”

“Please, your Majesty, stay here where it is safe.”

“What does it matter if I am safe, while our people are in detention camps?”

“Please consider.  At least, here, as our sovereign ruler in exile, you are a visual reminder of what is happening to our people.  After the vote, when I am elected, _together_ we will convince the Senate they must use force to aid our people.”

“I fear by the time you have control of the bureaucrats, Senator, there will be nothing left of our people, our way of life.”

“I understand your concern, your Majesty, unfortunately they have control of our planet.  Do you really believe, if you were to return, there is anything you can do which would improve our people’s plight?  If you return, they would harm our people, forcing you to sign the treaty.  There is nothing you can do for them by returning.  With you at my side, it may not take as long as you fear to rally the Senate.”

“I fear you are correct.  I will always regret not returning to our people, but I must do what is best for them.  I will stay and wait for Republic support.”

 

 

 

Yoda shook his head, as if to clear it.

What did this have to do with Dooku and Obi-Wan?  Nothing, it seemed.

Yoda briefly thought about the young ruler’s lack of confidence in the Senate.  What would happen to the Republic if the Senate were to become paralyzed?

 _Jedi meddle in politics they should not,_ he reminded himself.

It _was_ strange he saw that same human Senator again.  Was _he_ the reason Yoda had seen this vision?

The Senator _had_ spoken of being “elected.”  Surely this unprepossessing Senator was not referring to the Chancellorship?

Yoda shrugged.  This was not important.  Regimes had come and go for thousands of years, and very little had changed from one to the next…

 

 

 

The Jedi Council was in session.  In the center stood Dooku, his body rigid with indignation.  Next to him stood Obi-Wan, no longer his Padawan, for the braid of Padawan status had been cut off; all his fair hair was now closely cropped.

“Why won’t you see reason?” Dooku protested, sharply.

“ _We_ see reason,” corrected Mace Windu, severely.  “There is no evidence of a secret agenda behind the recent course of events.  In the end, the trade dispute was resolved, and the Queen restored.  The vague references of another individual from the Nemoidian you questioned are hardly evidence.  It does not justify your request to search for this hypothetical enemy.”

“It is not _only_ the Nemodian.”

“What do you mean?”

Dooku said nothing for a moment, as if he was carefully considering his next few words.  “I have told no one this… save Obi-Wan.  I have become conscious of some… power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing power that forever stands in the way of virtue, and throws a shield over the evildoers.  I have seen traces of its actions in many evils.  This power now sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but _this_ web has a thousand radiations, and this enemy knows well every quiver of each of them.  _It_ does little.  _It_ only plans.  Its agents, like the Nemodians, may be overcome, but _It_ is never caught.  _It_ is never so much as suspected.”

“This supposed enemy would have to be an extremely powerful Force user to remain hidden from us,” stated Mace Windu, unable to hide his skepticism.  “When you accompanied the Senate’s force to reinstate the Queen, did you find evidence of such a Force user?”

Dooku hesitated.  “No, I did not.”

“So how would you find this ‘enemy’?”

“I must somehow break through the shadow which shrouds _It_ ,” Dooku said, firmly.  “I must follow the traces of evidence I can detect, until I find what I am seeking.”

“And then?”

“And then I will utterly destroy our enemy.”

Mace Windu shook his head, slowly.  “Even if it _were_ true, an attempt to root out this ‘power’ would be exceedingly dangerous.  We _still_ would not allow it.  The Force must be used for knowledge and defense.  Never for attack.”

“It _is_ true.  And if such a quest is dangerous now, it would only become more dangerous with time.”

“ _If_ it is true, we will deal with it when it reveals itself.  _That_ is the way of the Jedi.”

“Then it will be too late!” snapped Dooku.

“I am sorry, Master Dooku, but the Council’s decision is final,” Mace Windu said, with finality.

“Then I wish to invoke the right of refusal.”

Mace Windu shook his head at the audacity.  “That will not do.  In the Code, the Jedi right of refusal only applies to refusing a mission.  It does not allow for you to refuse our decision so that _you_ may go on a mission of your own.”

“I disagree.  The right of refusal allows a Jedi to refuse an order for several reasons.  One of them is if the Jedi finds the order to be morally objectionable.”

“And you find our command to be morally objectionable?” asked Mace Windu, raising his eyebrows at the audacity.

“It is morally objectionable not to destroy evil.”

There was silence at his words for a moment.

“You would directly defy the Council?” Mace Windu asked, slowly.

“I will if I must,” Dooku stated, flatly.  “I have spent my life in obedience to the Council, but my obedience to the good must always be greater.”

“Even if the cost is expulsion from the Jedi Order?”

Dooku hesitated, but only for a moment.  Then he nodded.

Mace Windu then looked to Obi-Wan, who stood silently at Dooku’s side.  “Obi-Wan, would you follow Master Dooku on this path?”

The young man did not hesitate.  “Yes.”

“You are no longer his Padawan,” Mace Windu reminded him, sharply.  “You are no longer bound to absolute obedience.”

“I know this,” Obi-Wan said, calmly.  “But I believe as he does, so I must act as he does.”

There was a low murmur among the Council members.  Yoda’s voice silenced them, when he finally spoke.  “An evil presence there well may be.  Sensed it sometimes, I may have.  Not sure am I.”

Dooku turned and took a step towards his former Master.  “Then _certainly_ you agree with me.”

Yoda shook his head, regretfully.  “No.”  Seeing Dooku’s anguished expression, he added, gently, “Sorry am I, my Padawan.”

“ _Master,”_ implored Dooku, “we must always strive to defeat the Dark.  Why would you hesitate?”

Yoda sighed.  “A dangerous path would you be on, should choose you to follow it.”

Obi-Wan quietly answered him.  “I do not fear death, Master Yoda.”

“No… not death,” Yoda said, very softly, his eyes focused on the distance.  “But fates there are, worse still.”  He looked at Dooku, searchingly.  “Suffer _anything_ to defeat the Dark, would you?”

“Yes, I would.”

“But forgotten you have, that as into the darkness look you, also into _you_ the darkness looks.”

“What are you implying?” demanded Dooku.  “That I am given to the Dark?”

Yoda shook his head.  “Imply nothing do I.  But perhaps willing you should not be, to any price pay, to any suffering endure, in the cause of the Light.”  He looked back at Obi-Wan.  “Your _life_ , yes.  But your own nature, _never_.”

“I do not share your _concern,_ ” Dooku said, coldly.  He looked about the room at the Council members.  “I can also see you do not share _mine_.  But no matter.  I have chosen my path, and I will not deviate from it.  You must now choose your own.  May the Force be with you.”

He bowed stiffly and strode from the room, Obi-Wan following in step.

The door slid closed behind them with an abrupt finality.  For a few moments there was only silence in the Council chamber.

Mace Windu turned to Yoda, “What should we do?  I do not wish to expel them from the Order, but we cannot approve of their actions, or their defiance.”

“Much more dangerous would it be, if expelled were they.”

Mace Windu was taken aback at Yoda’s choice of words.  “ _Dangerous?_ Dangerous to _them_ , or to _us_?”  He shook his head, dismissively.  “Dooku and Obi-Wan are strictly ethical.  They are _idealists_.  I cannot imagine them falling to the Dark side.”

“ _Many_ paths to the Dark there are. Much evil done is, with desire for the good.” Yoda paused, and, seeing Mace Windu’s doubtful expression, added, thoughtfully, “No, believe I do not they are tainted by the Dark.  Yet… concerned I am, with how _clearly_ this power Dooku sees, while others no more than shadows see.  _Calls_ to him, the Darkness does.”

“So what should we do, Master Yoda?” Adi Gallia asked.

Yoda answered, softly, “Hope should we, fail they do not.”

 

 

_A path to the **Dark** this is!_

_Surely see that, they do…_

 

 

Looking into the horizon, the sunlight was bright and merciless, thrown back from the shifting sand and a glint of metal.  Despite this, the crowd filling the stadium was looking directly into the brightness.  Every being was standing at their seat, and other than vague murmurs of excitement, it was strangely quiet, every individual tense with anticipation.

The glint of metal quickly separated into two distinct sources, flying across the sands side by side, barely three meters apart.  They were traveling at astonishing speeds, for, within moments, the two racing pods skimming across the sand were clearly visible.

One pod was green, the other yellow.  The vibrating twin engines in front of each of the pods were long and cylindrical, each pair bound together by an energy stabilizer.

In the green pod, there was a gray-skinned Dug.  The pilot in the yellow pod was a human of about thirteen.  Even as they traveled at frightening speeds, the two racers were watching each other far more closely than the sand in front of them.

The human racer slowly started to pull ahead.  The human quickly glanced to his left, now able to closely look at one of the green engines of his opponent.  At that instant, a small hatch in the green engine opened and spewed blaster fire.

The blaster fire did not hit the human, or his racer, for he had already pulled back on the throttle, and the laser blasts passed harmlessly in front of his engines.

It was as if the human had sensed his opponent’s actions before they happened.

The human once more started to overtake the Dug.  Before the Dug could again fire his weapon, the human swerved his engines into the blaster, destroying it.  The human immediately veered back to a safer distance, his own engines undamaged.

The human continued to pull ahead of his opponent.  In a few moments, it seemed the human’s pod would be completely clear of the Dug’s.  But just then, the Dug veered his racer, attempting to slam his engines into the human’s pod.

Once again, the Dug’s tactics failed, for the human had already cut all power, causing his engines and pod to rapidly descend to the ground and skid across the sand, while the green pod passed harmlessly overhead.

The Dug screamed his frustration, and wildly tried to turn back.  But it was too late, for his sharp turn caused him to roll into an uncontrolled dive, and he crashed into the desert.  Black oily smoke rose from the wreck, the air overhead rippling with heat.

The human then brought power back to his engines, which lifted themselves, and the trailing pod, out of the sand.  Now a solitary racer, the human coasted into the stadium, and landed elegantly in the sand past the finish line.

The stadium visibly shook with the great cry from the crowd, which was one of triumph, as the voices from the thousands of beings from different races joined the chant, clapping and stamping along with their cry.

Over that could be heard the shrill tone of an announcer, his voice amplified over a loudspeaker.  “This is incredible!  _Unbelievable!_   The first human _ever_ to win a podrace!”

The boy jumped out of his pod and threw off his leather helmet, revealing sandy blonde hair.  Though tall, there was sweetness and openness about his face, like that of a younger boy.  Oblivious to the thunderous crowd, he immediately ran towards a small dark-haired woman.  He picked her up in a strong embrace, her feet leaving the ground as he swung her around in joy.

“I did it, Mom, I did it!” he crowed.

The woman was smiling, even as the tears ran down her face.  When he put her down she returned his embrace, stroking his hair for a moment, her expression one of both joy and relief.

A Toydarian hovered above them, with both a look of pride and another emotion difficult to define.  Twice he started to move towards mother and son, but stopped himself, instead remaining apart.   He spoke from where he hovered.  “You have made me a lot of money, yes, you did.”

Finally noticing the Toydarian, the boy looked up, clearly confused.  “Even after what you lost betting on Sebulba?”

“Bet on _Sebulba_?  No, I bet on you.”

“You bet on _me?_ ”

“Of _course_.”

The boy smiled up at him.  His smile was much like his mother’s.  “Thank you for believing in me.”

The Toydarian looked embarrassed.  “It’s not about belief, boy!  He he he.  You were such a long shot, I couldn’t resist.  And it has paid off, yes it has.  I can close the shop and live like Jabba himself.”

The woman looked up, puzzled.  “Close the shop?  Then what will you have us doing?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?” the woman asked.

The Toydarian smiled, “On _you_.  I am selling you your freedom.”

The boy and his mother stared at him in shocked disbelief.  The boy shook his head, “I don’t have enough money.  I didn’t even have enough to place a bet today.  But if I could keep racing—”

“Bah!  Forget the money.  Let us make a deal.  Any prizes you win, or contracts you sign, I get twenty-five percent.”

“And Mom?” the boy asked, hopefully.

“Her too.  Who else could keep you out of trouble?  Protect my investment, eh?”

The woman placed her hand protectively on the boy’s shoulder, warily asking, “But what do you mean, _contracts?_ ”

“The slave boy who wins his freedom in a podrace!  He can do anything, the boy can!  Pod racing won’t keep his interest for long, I think!”

 

 

 _A strange vision_ , Yoda thought, _why see I this boy?_

Still, Yoda smiled.

_Good it is when one enslaved is free.  And **powerful** that boy is, in the Force…_

 

 

“Is he dead?”  Obi-Wan was sitting on a rock, his left hand staunching the gash at his side.  His face was grimaced in pain.

Dooku looked over the fallen body, completely obscured in the tall grass, save for a clawed hand tattooed red and black.  He kicked the corpse, his expression one of disgust.  “Apparently.”

“It could easily have gone the other way.”

Dooku raised his head at Obi-Wan’s blunt words and nodded.  “I am of the same mind.  We got off easily.”  His gaze fell to Obi-Wan’s side, and he amended, “For the most part.”

Dooku strode over to the rock where Obi-Wan was sitting and leaned over for a closer look.  “Let me see to your injury.”  He then placed his hand on the wound and palpated it with his long fingers.  Obi-Wan winced at Dooku’s ministrations.  “You have three broken ribs.  But the bleeding has stopped.”

“It was my own fault,” Obi-Wan admitted, ruefully.  “I didn’t expect he could use the Force to throw a rock at me while we were so closely engaged.”

“Yes, you must _always_ be on your guard,” Dooku said, reproachfully.  “Although, in the end, _he_ forgot the same lesson.”

“He _was_ certainly surprised when I repelled the next rock back at him.”  Obi-Wan was smiling a little despite the pain.  “But I have _you_ to thank, Master.  If you had not shielded me when I was first hit…”

Dooku shrugged, “If we had not assisted each other, _neither_ of us would have survived.”  He helped Obi-Wan to his feet.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth for a moment at the movement, but managed to answer steadily, “At least it is over.”  He leaned a little on Dooku’s arm as they slowly began to walk.

“Only for the moment,” Dooku corrected.  “The one who taught him is far more dangerous still.”  He looked down at the gash in Obi-Wan’s side, which was bleeding anew.  “Obi-Wan, we barely survived today.  We must rethink our approach.”

Obi-Wan stopped walking at Dooku’s words, turned to look into his Master’s face, and asked, frowning slightly.  “In what way?”

Dooku hesitated, but then said, “That… thing in the grass had sources of power we do not understand.  We must learn what our enemy knows, if we are to defeat _Him.”_

Obi-Wan stood there, in silence, before finally asking, carefully, “Are you suggesting we learn of the Dark Side?”

“Yes.”  Dooku then added, hastily, “But not to use for evil ends.  Only to defeat evil.”  Looking at Obi-Wan’s uncertain expression, Dooku continued, “When adequately prepared, knowledge is not dangerous.  It is neither good nor evil.”

“The Council would forbid it.”

“And the Council would have forbid us setting a trap for that _thing_ we killed today, if they had known about it,” countered Dooku.  “Did we do wrong by killing it?  The Council forbids a great many things it knows little about.”

“The Council cannot go against us _now,”_ rejoined Obi-Wan, inclining his head to the body in the grass.  “If we have to, we can produce that _thing’s_ remains.  Certainly _then_ they would see the threat is real.”

Dooku shook his head, “No, they still would not see the truth for what it is.  They would insist on waiting for _Him_ to reveal himself.  They lecture on the dangers of _fear_ , yet they fear anything they do not understand.  As _you_ said, we were almost defeated today.  _We_ , who have been more rigorously trained in the fighting arts than any other Jedi, were _barely_ adequate.  Do you think it will be enough to defeat _Him_?”

“No.”  Obi-Wan fell silent.

It was very quiet, except for the humming drone of insects.  A small breeze stirred the tall golden grass with a soft whisper.  The setting sun was the color of blood.

In that strange light Obi-Wan’s face was reddened fair, and his pellucid eyes astonishingly blue.  Dooku looked intently into Obi-Wan’s face, seeking some answer there.

After a moment, Dooku placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  “The Darkness cannot enter the virtuous,” he said very softly, almost tenderly.  His long white fingers clasped his former Padawan, drawing him closer.  “And there is no darkness in _you_ , Obi-Wan, my son.”

“There is _always_ darkness,” Obi-Wan corrected, equally softly.  His left hand still held the wound at his side, but no longer tightly, as if forgotten.  Some blood started to seep through his fingers, but he seemed not to notice.

“Yes, the Jedi teach the Dark Side can never be eradicated from existence.  But, if we are strong enough, we can triumph over it.”  Watching Obi-Wan’s troubled expression, Dooku went on, “Perhaps we should discuss this later, when—”

“I will follow.”

Dooku was silent for a moment, surprised.  Letting out a breath, he smiled.  “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan did not return his smile.  “I cannot forsake this path.  And I… sense we can only succeed together.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dooku affirmed.  “I have felt this as well.  It is _your_ virtue that will keep us whole.  I know it.”

“How will we learn what we need to learn?”

“The _Force_ will guide us, Obi-Wan.”  Dooku went on, briskly, “But come now, we must get back to the ship.  We need to put some bacta on those ribs as soon as possible.”

Obi-Wan again leaned his weight on Dooku’s arm.  “Thank you, Master.”

Dooku gave a last look towards the dead thing lying in the grass.  “We have much we can learn from our enemies.  For does evil not reflect the good?  Even a distorted mirror throws back visions of truth.”

Obi-Wan, too, looked back to the fallen enemy.  “Yes, I agree.”  Then he smiled, “But I must admit I have lost some of my fondness for the colors red and black.”

“I can see why,” Dooku said, dryly.

The two Jedi continued their slow walk, shadows in the gold grass, as dusk fell.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku and Obi-Wan continue with their path to destroy the unknown Sith Lord...wherever it may lead them. Qui-Gon Jinn ends up on Geonosis to investigate the plot to assassinate the Chancellor.

Yoda remembered Dooku as a young Padawan.

_They were standing on the top of a tower, in the capital city of Helor, watching the flames burn._

_Yoda was hanging his head in sorrow, and utter frustration.  He had spent agonizing days of negotiation with the Hela leader, imploring him to at least let the Kathairein be exiled from the planet.  But, the Shi’Hela could not be swayed, and his “final solution” for the “parasites” on Helor had begun._

_Dooku’s dark head was outlined by the flames.  He did not look away, for he never shied away from ugliness, or truth.  The dancing orange of the flame was reflected in the darkness of his eyes._

_“What are we to do now, Master?”_

_Yoda took a deep breath before answering.  He had been so preoccupied with his own failure, he had almost forgotten his Padawan_

_“Go we must,” Yoda finally said, wearily._

_“Go?” Dooku echoed in disbelief, turning towards his Master.  Eyes wide, he was no longer calm and self-possessed, but instead bewildered and confused._

_“Failed the negotiations have.  Failed **I** have,” Yoda said, heavily.  “Ordered us to leave, the Shi’Hela has.”_

_“But, surely, Tur’ana’Hela would hide us until we can formulate a plan.”_

_“In danger, she would be, if, from her brother, hide us she did. Besides, nothing we can do, if stay we did. Ordered us, the Senate has, with the legal government, not to interfere.”_

_“We cannot go,” Dooku insisted._

_“Our work over it is.”_

_“I would **think** it is just starting!”_

_“Leave we must, my Padawan.”_

_Dooku shook his head, “I cannot accept that.  And the Shi’Hela can kill thousands with impunity?”  He was not crying but his whole body shook very slightly._

_Yoda sighed.  He walked up close to his Padawan, so tall now, but still mostly a boy.  Yoda thought, **Very young, full of idealism, he is.  The world, incessantly disappoints him, it has.**_ **_Failed him, too, I have._ **

_Yoda laid his three-fingered hand on Dooku’s elegant one, for a moment, to emphasize his words.  “Understand you must, no escaping the Darkness there is.  Never respite from consequences there are.”_

_This answer did not satisfy Dooku.  “Since we have the strength, we should use it to stop those intent on evil.”  And now he **was** crying, the tears flowing down his fine-boned face, but Yoda knew they were not tears of grief, but of rage._

_Yoda would have reached out a hand, to dry those tears, but he knew his Padawan well, so he contented himself to say, gently, but firmly, “When fighting monsters, always fear becoming a monster you must.”_

_“That could never happen to me,” Dooku insisted, defiantly.  “When I am made a Knight, I will **make** others do what is right.”_

_“Not to have free choice, are they?”_

_Dooku looked down into his Master’s eyes.  He was no longer crying, but the tracks of his tears were wet silver down his face. “Is free choice worth all this suffering?” he asked, gesturing to the flames below.  It was not a rhetorical question, the challenge of a clever student, for his eyes were dark with despair._

_Yoda shook his head sadly, “Come, my Padawan, start walking we must.”_

_They left for Corsucant that night.  Dooku’s heart was still troubled, mutinous even, for Yoda had been unable to answer him._

Now, years later, while reflecting on this bitter memory, Yoda finally had an answer for his Padawan.  _Know I do not._

Yoda saw the boy Dooku behind his closed eyes.  _“That could never happen to me.”_ He squeezed his eyes tighter.

_Rest I need.  See more later, I will._

Yoda tried closing his mind to the Force.  But into his mind, a vision came, unbeckoned…

 

 

 

The image in Yoda’s mind was fixed, hence a most probable future.  But unlike the other visions, this one was remote and ill defined, as through a distorted lens.

One man was sitting at a desk, another was standing to his right, but Yoda could not make out their faces.

On the desk was an old, crumbling parchment, faded the jaundiced yellow of disease.  Yoda tried to read it, but could not.  It was as if all the distortion emanated from that one object, coming from its center in great irregular rippling waves, making everything seem far away and strange.

As Yoda struggled to focus on the parchment, he could peripherally see an aura around it, a deep violet cloud rimmed by black, pulsing like a malignant heart.  And in this manuscript there was POWER, it vibrated with it, promising much.

 _Of the Dark this is,_ he thought.

The seated man spoke.  “Any success yet, Obi-Wan?  Can you read it at all?”  His deep voice was distorted as if from under water, but Yoda could still recognize it as Dooku’s.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shortly.  His voice, although also distorted, was clearly tense and hard with frustration.

“Tell me what you see.”

“The letters run together without spaces and punctuation.  The more I concentrate, the more it changes.  One moment the script goes vertically down the page, the next horizontally, or even diagonally.  And yet, I’m not entirely certain it’s changing, either.”

“Anything else?” Dooku asked, hopefully.

Obi-Wan paused before answering. “For brief, flickering moments, it seems to be in a language I am familiar with, though I could not tell you which one.”

“ _Good_ ,” Dooku said, elatedly.  “You are taking the first steps towards deciphering it.  Remember, the writer used the Force to create this, so only with the Force can it be read.  Try again.”

Obi-Wan reached his hand out over the parchment.  His posture became rigid.  Despite the veil of distortion, Yoda could see the concentration etched on the white oval blur that was Obi-Wan’s face.  After a moment, Obi-Wan slammed his hands down on the table.  “I cannot.  It’s closed to me.”

“For now.  Why do you think this is so?"

Again, Obi-Wan did not answer right away. “It was written with the Dark Side of the Force. Therefore… only through the Dark Side can the manuscript be read.”

“Yes.  You must open yourself to the power of the Dark Side.”

“I do not know how,” Obi-Wan said calmly, “or even if I can.”

“It will not come easily to _you_.  But it is not impossible.  Do not the Jedi philosophers speak of the many paths to the Dark?  In each and every living being, even in you, there is a path to the Dark.”

Leaning in closer, Dooku added, softly, “Even the virtuous can hate.  They can hate those given to the Dark.  Let yourself hate the Enemy.  _Feel_ your anger and your hate of evil.”

“But the Jedi teach that with hate comes utter corruption.”

“Others would be vulnerable, yes,” agreed Dooku, with a trace of asperity.

 _As would you,_ Yoda insisted, silent and unseen by the two men.

“But not ones such as ourselves,” added Dooku.  “For we desire only the good.  How could _we_ possibly become corrupted?  Impossible!”

“But cannot _anyone_ become corrupted?”

 _Yes!_ Yoda agreed.

Dooku made an impatient sound at the question.  “We have studied the Dark more than any living Jedi.  We are seeking the _knowledge_ of the Dark, not its power.  A Jedi may always use the Force for knowledge.  It is this knowledge that will give us the strength we need to finally destroy _Him_.  Such knowledge would bring destruction to the ignorant, not to the prepared.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath.

“Feel your hate and anger.”

Obi-Wan again reached his hand over the parchment.

Yoda would have turned away, but could not.  His focus was drawn to the parchment.  Its aura began to expand, and deepen, the violet-black a rising mist that reached out to Obi-Wan, and started to encompass him.

Obi-Wan’s own halation was a dazzling silver-white, of an almost blinding brightness.  It expanded around him, pressing back against the hungry darkness.  Towards the edge, Obi-Wan’s aura became tainted a pale violet, rimmed with serpentine black.

Obi-Wan turned his head towards his former Master.  “If I…” he breathed, clearly in pain.

Dooku nodded.  He answered Obi-Wan’s unspoken thoughts, his voice not without sympathy.  “It _is_ a sacrifice, my son.  But you have never feared to sacrifice.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, closing his eyes.

Obi-Wan’s shining aura flared, burning bright, illuminating the room as the resplendent silver corona rallied against the encroaching shadow.  But it was only for a moment, then the violet and black shadow closed around the silver glow, and the light collapsed into itself entirely.  The shadow, pulsing and throbbing with its dark and terrible energy, expanded rapidly and utterly consumed Obi-Wan.  Now deeper and darker, the shadow grew larger, devouring everything it touched, swallowing all into its blackness.

Then there was nothing, an utter oblivion like death.

 

 

Yoda opened his eyes, expecting his room in the Jedi Temple to replace the nothingness.  But instead, he was once again viewing everything through the greater vision of the Force.  He again found the threads of those two exceptional lives, the lustrous silver and gold entwined together.  With a heavy heart, Yoda sought to see what would, or might, happen after the vision he had just witnessed.  But to his trepidation, he could not again find that horrific moment in the threads of their lives.

He searched for the vision of their defeat of the red and black creature.  That he _could_ find.  He tried to follow their lives from that point onward, but could not.

Their threads had been abruptly severed, as if they had died.

 _A different future this is?_  Yoda thought, puzzled.  _One where they die, instead of the creature?_

Yoda gazed into that vision again…

 

 

Is he dead?”  Obi-Wan was sitting on a rock, his left hand staunching the gash at his side.  His face was grimaced in pain.

Dooku looked over the fallen body, completely obscured in the tall grass, save for a clawed hand tattooed red and black.  He kicked the corpse, his expression one of disgust.  “Apparently.”

 

 

 

Yoda shook his head.

_No, the same it is.  Live they do, but their threads, disappeared._

He could still sense the joined harmony of Dooku and Obi-Wan in the vibration of the billions of lives.  But now the hum was different, for it had mutated into something harsher and more strident.

_Hidden from the Light, their path to the Dark Side is.  But somewhere they must be.  Find them again, I must, if answers I am to find._

Yoda remembered Qui-Gon, the laughing blue-eyed baby, and the chastised young Padawan before his Master.  A red thread of life, beating like a heart.

Qui-Gon.  He was somehow bound into this, a hidden piece to the puzzle.

 _Find Qui-Gon, must I_.

And the chaotic red thread was easy to find, because as it twisted and wove its path, it held together all the lives it touched, so that each song, while still singular and individual, sang in harmony with the others, Qui-Gon’s song the pulse keeping the time.  Millions of lives were strengthened and healed by the touch of his life.

 _Much good he will do,_ Yoda thought, wondrously.

That red life, diving deep into the center of the pattern, finally touched upon the gleaming silver and gold.  But, while Yoda could retrace the path of Qui-Gon’s life from this meeting, he could not do so for Dooku and Obi-Wan.  It was as if they had come back to life.

 _But altered…_ Yoda thought.

Their lives still gleamed brilliant, but their song, louder and more complex, was now harsh and mixed with discordant elements, vibrating strongly with POWER.  And with GREATNESS.  And with VICTORY.

And yet, there was a melancholy threnody to the song, as if underneath the primary melody of triumph there was now a lament of grief.

The red life, touching the gold and silver.

 _Yes,_ Yoda thought, _see them I must.  See **this** moment I must…_

 

 

 

 

There was a chamber of rough, reddish stone.  It had a primitive and organic look, as if it had not been hewn with tools, but gnawed out by a life form.

In the center buzzed a blue energy field, in which a man rotated, bound by its power.

Dooku strode into the room.  His features were drawn and sharp with age and fatigue.  He was not dressed in Jedi robes, but elegant and expensive attire, made of a soft blue cloth that glinted with hints of gold thread.

Beside him, as usual, was Obi-Wan.  He was more simply dressed than Dooku, wearing a plain robe that closely resembled that of a Jedi, except it was a pure glistening white.  He had no adornment save his hair, which fell to his shoulders in soft waves, and shone red-gold in the light.  His expression was difficult to read.  His eyes, although clear in the manner of crystal, were equally as hard.

The bound man spoke.  “You will excuse me if I don’t come down to greet you, I am sure.”  His voice was familiar, a low, pleasing baritone.  It was Qui-Gon, older, thinner, his long hair mostly gray, but unmistakably him.

“As usual, your humor is totally inappropriate,” snapped Dooku, angrily.  “May I ask why you have come to this planet?”

“I am tracking the bounty hunter who attempted to assassinate the Chancellor.”

“I see.  It is unfortunate you did not contact me prior to arriving here.”

“We have hardly spoken the past few years.  I had no idea you were here.”

Obi-Wan spoke, with distain.  “Through the Force you can _always_ sense your Master.  _If_ the bond is true.”

“Yes,” conceded Qui-Gon, “I can no longer sense him the way I used to.”

Dooku answered, “Nor I you.  But if you _had_ sensed I was here, would you have _still_ come alone?”

“Yes.  It would have been a sign from the Living Force to seek you out.”

“Perhaps you are right, for _once_ ,” Dooku allowed.  “But now is not the time for philosophy.  There are greater matters we must discuss.”  Dooku paused.  “They wish to take you to trial.”

Qui-Gon was calm.  “On what charges?”

“Trespassing.  Spying.  Possible incitement of rebellion.”

Qui-Gon thought for a moment.  “I suppose I _was_ trespassing,” he admitted, wryly.

Obi-Wan responded, sarcastically, “Let your innocence of the other two charges console you on your way to your execution.  _Each_ of these charges is punishable by death in the Arena.”

“If I am guilty, why are you wasting your time here?” asked Qui-Gon, pointedly.

Dooku stepped towards Qui-Gon, coming as close as the energy field would allow.  His voice had fallen to barely louder than a whisper.  “There is a way I can help you.  But only if you join me.”

“You mean join your cause.”

“Yes.  But not the way you think.  When I was told of your capture, I knew the Force led you to me.  I need your help, Qui-Gon.”

“ _I_ am the one bound, yet you ask for _my_ help.”

Ignoring Qui-Gon’s quip, Dooku fixed his compelling dark eyes on his former Padawan.  “Now is the time, my son, when you must join with us.  Join with us in this struggle to destroy the darkness growing ever nearer and ever larger.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, with an almost regretful smile for his former Master.  “There are other paths to that end outside of destroying the Republic.  Despite its flaws, it is still good.”

Obi-Wan answered, contemptuously, “You, who purportedly understand so much, understand _nothing_.”

Dooku sighed, “Qui-Gon, despite what you believe, we are _not_ attempting to overthrow the Republic in some quest to replace it with a utopian ideal.”

Qui-Gon snorted, “It certainly _appears_ that way.”

“As you must know, we broke with the Jedi Order to root out the darkness.  But what you do _not_ know is we found _Him_.”

“What are you saying?”

“We have found our hidden enemy.”  Seeing Qui-Gon’s expression, Dooku held up a hand, “No, do not ask.  _He_ watches carefully even our _minds._ It takes all our strength to conceal our thoughts from him, and to dwell on him would bring our thoughts to his attention.  But I _will_ tell you this; he is a most _ancient_ enemy.  And _He_ is behind this movement against the Republic.”

“Which _you_ lead.  Have you joined with this enemy, then?”

Dooku shook his head.  “Only to get close enough to destroy him.”  Dooku looked beyond Qui-Gon, his face shadowed in a memory of pain.

Despite his restraints, Qui-Gon looked upon Dooku with tenderness and compassion.  “Master, what is it?” he asked, very gently.

Still looking into the distance, Dooku answered, softly, “Obi-Wan and I have had to endure… much to become part of his inner circle.”

“ _Endure_?” Qui-Gon echoed, uneasily.  “What did he do to you?”

Dooku abruptly focused his dark eyes on Qui-Gon.  “Nothing we could not survive,” Dooku answered, dismissively.  “But it is not like the trials of the Jedi.  The trials of the Dark define themselves by _suffering_.  It is either succeed, or die.”

“So you have won his confidence.”

“ _No_.  Not until one of us has destroyed the other.  Then, whoever has conquered would take the sole place at his side.  Until then, we are kept at arm’s distance.  But this has allowed us to keep our innermost natures from him.  He does not know it, but we are still of the Light.”

Qui-Gon’s expression was disconcerted.  “But how can this be possible, after submitting to his trials?”

“It was _Obi-Wan_ who guided me.  Without him, I do not know if I could have endured His Trials without being utterly lost to the Dark Side.”  Dooku paused a moment, and then quoted, softly, “‘ _Virtue, alone, is of importance, and rests entirely in the individual intellect.  To be virtuous is a choice, dependant only on the individual will.  Therefore, every Jedi has perfect freedom, exempt from any control others may wish to impose on them_ …’ Obi-Wan wrote this in an essay for me before becoming my Padawan.  These were not just words, but truths he has always lived by.  Throughout the suffering, throughout any… acts we were forced to perform, I have held to his words.”

“If this _is_ true, then why have you not destroyed him?”

“He is too powerful.”

“And _my_ help would shift the balance?”

“Not exactly.  You must first convince my associates you have joined us.  Thus, when the Jedi Order’s rescue party arrives, whose arrival, I am told, is imminent, you will be alive to defect back to the Jedi.  With your help, Obi-Wan and I will coordinate with the Jedi, undermining _His_ forces, ensuring their utter destruction.  Galactic civil war will be averted.  Then, Obi-Wan and I will rejoin the Jedi, and then _all_ of the Masters, together, can directly confront _Him_.”

“How am I to know you are telling the truth?”

Obi-Wan answered, bluntly, “If you choose not to believe us, then you will be executed tomorrow in the Arena.”

Dooku continued, “We must do as we are bid.  We cannot reveal prematurely our hidden alignment.”

“No one is greater than the good,” Qui-Gon quoted back to Dooku.

“ _Yes!_ ” spat Dooku angrily.  “This is a _hard_ truth, and a bitter one, but it _is_ truth, despite your refusal to accept it.  If I have to sign your death warrant to save the galaxy, I _will_ do it.”  Dooku looked suddenly weary, less like the elegant aristocrat and more a tired old man.  He took a shuddering breath, “But, unfortunately, if this were to happen, when the Jedi force arrives, there will no one among them who knows of our true intentions.  After your execution, they would never believe us.  The Jedi may still win the battle, but even if Obi-Wan and I attempt to undermine _His_ forces, without coordination with the Jedi, too many will escape.  _His_ plans for a galactic civil war will be unavoidable, with uncounted suffering.”

Qui-Gon said nothing for a moment, only rotated in the energy field in silence.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, contemptuously.  “Just as you continually failed your Master when you were his Padawan, you will fail him now.”  He then turned to Dooku.  “Master, this is a waste of our time.  I told you he would not join us.  Let him go to his death if that is his wish.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan’s comment.  “You seem quite distressed by my prospective execution.”

Obi-Wan, not disturbed by Qui-Gon’s sarcasm, responded, evenly, “I _never_ liked you, Qui-Gon.  You are among the most powerful of the Jedi, yet you waste yourself on trivialities.”

Qui-Gon started to reply, but Dooku cut him off with a weary gesture.  “ _Enough_ of this.  Qui-Gon, do you have an answer for us?”

“Since I was a boy you have taught me to be on my guard against everyone.  You told me I was too trusting, that it would be my undoing.  And yet, you tell me the fate of the Galaxy hangs on whether I trust you or not.”

“Yes,” Dooku answered.

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Then it is fortunate I never learned that lesson.  I have always trusted you.  I will do as you ask.”

 

 

_Wrong could I have been?  Must a Jedi learn of the Dark in order to destroy it from within…_

 

 

Dooku was again before the Senate, but he was now at the Rostra.  The light was shining down on his head, illuminating his hair to a silver nimbus.  Sharing his light was Obi-Wan, who quietly stood behind him on the platform.  Compared to their brightness, all the senatorial boxes were in shadow.

As Dooku spoke, there was utter silence.

“This is a time of darkness, confusion, and fear.  For never has the Republic come so close to destruction, trembling on its very foundations.  The reason for the severity of threat is simple; while able to defend against any foreign enemy, we were powerless when the enemy was us, _ourselves_.

“There was no outside conqueror bent on our destruction.  That, citizens, we could have defeated by bravery and force of arms.  No, our enemy was in truth ourselves: _our_ corruption, _our_ selfishness, _our_ shunning the ideals by which we should live.  We were a most fertile breeding ground for the seeds of our own destruction; we spawned the evils from our own flesh, nurtured it most tenderly, and then we affected astonishment at the result of our efforts.

“We cannot afford such arrogance, such corruption, such self-deception.  We should not hesitate to purge out our weaknesses.  We shall make over a new order, a new existence, free of corruption and taint.

“The people have honored me by imploring me to take up this great burden.  They say as I struck down the enemy, I should lead them out of _His_ shadow, as well.”  Dooku took a deep breath, then continued, more wearily.  “I am old.  Despite my bond with the Force, I am a mortal of mere flesh, subject to time and physical frailty.  Yet I can do all these things through the vision of the ideal, which strengthens me, and through this, _all_ things can be made possible.

“So I do not hesitate to take up the protection of the galaxy.  Let me be a shield to your oppressed, a weapon in your hand against the oppressor.  I will not shirk from my duty, I will never hesitate to do what needs to be done, regardless of the cost I must pay.

“To symbolize our new commitment, let us henceforth not use the word Republic.  That word, representing a thing held in common, was a falsehood and a lie.  Let us remember how precious this new order should be, so let us call the new order not Republic but _Protectorate_.  For we shall protect and defend this new order, sparing nothing, not even the last breath in our bodies.  For of what worth is mortal bodies, when held up to the ideal of good, which is eternal?

“If this seems to be difficult, citizens, it is because it _is_.  I am thankful I do not stand alone.  Many among the Jedi have taken up the cause of the new Protectorate.  As they aided me in slaying the enemy, so will they aid me in undoing his work.  They will defend the people and represent the government in organization, as well as defense.  As I speak, Jedi are being dispatched to the farthest reaches of the galaxy as emissaries of our new order.”

Dooku indicated with a gesture for Obi-Wan to step forward.  Dooku rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  “Better still is the man who stands at my side, my former Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  He has been with me throughout the great struggle, and he will not hesitate to continue putting his neck in the yoke alongside my own.  As he has suffered in your cause, let him now be a leader among you.  Trust him utterly, as I do, and follow him as you would me.  Together, I promise you, we will build a Protectorate that will last for a thousand generations.”

Dooku now bowed his head, humbly, to the thunderous applause.

 

 

 

_The galaxy won it has?_

_Or has it lost…_

 

 

A young man of about twenty, dressed in the black and red of Team Coruscant, was running down a bolo-ball field, deftly dribbling the ball with his feet, and easily avoiding all challengers.  His speed was astonishing, not the speed of a healthy young man, but something inhuman.

Two opponents from Team Kubundi, in uniforms of blue and yellow, tried to tackle him from behind, but grabbed only empty air as the young man dodged both of them at the last instant, as if sensing their approach.

The crowd screamed in delight, for the young man was obviously a fan favorite.

The game clock, with the crowd, started counting down the final ten seconds of the game.

As soon as he crossed the offsides line, the young man shot for a goal.

The ball was knocked away by the goalkeeper, who angled it to the sidelines for an out.

Yet, somehow, the young man was already there.  He leapt over a meter into the air and knocked the ball with his head, preventing it from going out of bounds.

The crowd cheered, particularly when the ball flew directly in front of another member of Team Coruscant, a Twi’lek who stood just in front of Team Kubundi’s net.  The Twi’lek seized his chance and attempted to head the ball through the goal.

The goalkeeper blocked this goal as well; by a deft punch that sent the ball over three meters into the air.

The game should have been over, 12-11 Team Kubundi.

But, the young man, who was still by the sidelines, ran towards the goal, leapt into the air, turned his body rapidly around in space, and knocked the ball with an elbow back into the opposing goal, scoring the final two points.

The stadium buzzer sounded the end of the game.  Team Coruscant won, 13-12.

The crowd roared, stamping their feet against their seats.

The young man fell to his knees, his hands clenched in triumph.

The crowd began to chant, so loud and so deep, it was the pulsing of a tremendous heart.

“AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!”

Desperate to touch their hero, the crowd swarmed over the field, shouting and weeping his name.

The announcer demanded the crowd stay in their seats, but, even amplified over the stadium speakers, it was a weak tinny sound against the thunder of the crowd’s chant.

“AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!”

The athlete should have been afraid of the monstrous onslaught of people, for they were thousands and he was one.  But as he stood up to greet the crowd that surged towards him, there was no fear in his face, only acceptance, and love.

“AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!”

The crowd touched him, pulling at his hair and his clothes, as if desperate to devour him.  He laughed and smiled as the crowd pulled him into their embrace, bore him up above their heads, and tossed him into the air to catch him again.

He gave himself to their adulation, laughing for joy, throwing his head back, trusting in their embrace.

“AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!  AN-A-kin!”

His hair was a coruscating helmet in the sun.  His face was open like that of a small boy, and behind the blue of his eyes there was gold.

The crowd carried him off the field in triumph, for he was theirs, and they were his.

 

 

 

 _Again see him do I,_ Yoda thought.  It had been the boy who had won the Podrace.

_Beautiful the young man’s joy is, but his tremendous gifts, wasted are they._

_But **why** see him do I…_

 

 

 

“When can construction begin?” Dooku asked the grey-haired human before him.

“The crews are already standing by.  We can begin as soon as you approve the final plans.”

As the other man spoke, Obi-Wan silently entered.  Dooku, seeing him, indicated with a smile that he should come forward.

“I was just discussing the plans with Chief Engineer Lemelisk, Obi-Wan.  I believe we are ready to begin construction.”

“I haven’t seen the final version, yet,” Obi-Wan said, holding out his hand for the datapad Lemelisk held.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I am not a Lord,” Obi-Wan corrected him, sharply, “Only a Jedi.”

The Chief Engineer sighed to himself, perhaps at Obi-Wan’s claim to be merely a Jedi.  But he handed over the datapad with a bow of his head.

Obi-Wan quickly scanned it, frowning.  “Master, there is an error in these plans.”

“Error?” Lemelisk sputtered, indignantly.  “That is impossible.  It is _perfect_.”

Dooku cut him off, “Listen to him.  He is usually right.  What do you see, Obi-Wan?”

“If you see right here, and here,” Obi-Wan said, his finger tapping the screen, “you will see this exhaust shaft goes directly into the reactor core.  It would be possible for someone to fire a proton torpedo down the shaft and into the reactor core, which would cause a chain reaction, destroying it.”

Dooku nodded, “I see what you mean.”

“My Lord—Master Jedi,” Lemelisk hastily corrected, “the shaft is less than two meters wide.  It would be _impossible_ to hit, even for a computer.”

“But not with the Force,” Obi-Wan replied, severely.

“Obi-Wan could hit something far less than two meters wide,” Dooku said, smiling.  “What do you suggest, Obi-Wan, as correction?”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “Something as simple as putting a bend into the shaft.  A minimum ninety degrees to be safe, but perhaps two sequential 180-degree bends close to the surface would be best.  And also jamming devices, for defense against self guided torpedoes.”

“Change your plans to incorporate his suggestions,” ordered Dooku, curtly.

The Chief Engineer bowed to both of them, and hurried away.

 

 

 _Construction plans?_ Yoda thought, shaking his head in puzzlement…

 

 

Dooku, sitting on a low chair at the back of a large unadorned room, was looking intently upon the two Neimodians before him.  The Neimodians, for their part, were standing at a most respectful attendance upon him.

“Will you accept the provisions as I have laid them out?”  Despite his exquisite manners, Dooku’s tone was less inquisitional and more dictorial.

“Yes, Master Dooku, of course.  We will be honored to provide the Protectorate with the assistance you have requested,” the more ornately dressed Neimodian answered.

A door at the opposite end of the room from Dooku’s chair slid open, and Obi-Wan strode in.  He walked past the Neimodians as if they were not there.  He gave Dooku a quick, stiff, bow.  “I did not know you had _company_ ,” he said, tersely.  “I will return later.”

“No, stay.  They are leaving.”  Dooku looked from Obi-Wan to the Neimodians.  “You must excuse us.”

“Of course, my Lord.”  Both Neimodians bowed deeply, and then left through the door Obi-Wan had entered moments before.

When the door slid closed, Dooku turned on Obi-Wan.  “Do you wish to explain your rudeness?”  Dooku snapped.

Obi-Wan met his eyes, levelly.  “Better to be rude than a hypocrite,” he said, coldly.

“And you think I am a hypocrite?  Why?” demanded Dooku, his eyes blazing.

“I cannot believe you see fit to conduct business with them.  They are criminals and parasites, stealing from others and giving nothing in return.  They should be arrested for their deeds, and instead you reward them with lucrative contracts.”

“Yes,” agreed Dooku, equally cold.  “They are, indeed, criminals.  But, as you know, if I am to solve the shortages in the Outer Rim, which I will remind you include food, pharmaceuticals, and other essential supplies, I must increase trade to these outlying systems.  Unfortunately, to do this, I need their services.”

“You are claiming there is no other recourse than to hire thieves and murderers?” Obi-Wan exclaimed, dubiously.

“No,” spat Dooku, “not in the _long_ term.  But in the _short_ term, with the economy of the galaxy in disarray, it is the only solution.  There are no others who have the capabilities to immediately effect relief to those whom are in need.  I must make compromises.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw was rigid, his blue eyes flashing fire.  “You would speak to me of _compromises_?  You raised me since I was twelve to believe there are no compromises, only corruption!”  He looked at his Master in contempt.  “You have been corrupted by the very things you have sought to destroy.”

“I have not,” Dooku answered, severely.  “In time we will punish them, along with the Hutts, and anyone else who threatens the peace and prosperity of this galaxy.  But, for now, we must content ourselves with stabilizing the Protectorate.  We must consider practicalities.”

“Practicalities?” Obi-Wan asked, in scorn.  “What are they, when compared to virtue?  It is better to struggle and die in service to the good than allow such corruption to exist.”  Although he had not raised his voice, his face was white and pinched about the nostrils in anger.  He turned his back to Dooku, refusing to say more.

Dooku stood up from his chair and walked up to Obi-Wan.  He was standing close enough to touch his former Padawan on the shoulder, but did not.  He merely spoke, his voice soft and calm.

“I have not changed.  But surely you see our emphasis should be to save the innocent, _not_ punish the guilty?”

“Should it?” Obi-Wan asked.  After a pause, he added, emphatically, “ _No one_ is greater than the good.”

“ _Yes_ , Obi-Wan.  But let us help those in need first.  Then, when the time comes, we _will_ destroy our enemies, I promise you.  We _will_ purge the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan turned around to face Dooku and crossed his arms over his chest.  His expression, no longer hostile, was closed and self-possessed.  He observed Dooku very closely.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, firmly, “ _we_ will.”

 

 

 

Yoda thought of the young boy in the Temple gardens, who had helped the girl Thrupsis.

_Those who do wrong should be stopped._

Yoda sighed.

_Now exceeded the Master the Padawan has, in devotion to his teachings…_

 

 

 

Dooku was sitting on a throne, for there was no other word for where he sat, high, black, and facing great round windows, opening to the deep darkness of space.

And it was Dooku who sat there, surveying his domain, and yet, it was not Dooku.  It was as if the Dooku Yoda knew had been simplified to caricature, his aristocratic profile with its aquiline nose resembling a cruel bird of prey, his dark eyes roaming over all, missing nothing, searching for a time to strike.  With him, looking out into the darkness, was Obi-Wan.

Through the windows, small points of light were flashing, a space battle between factions.  It was strangely beautiful.  From this distance, the pain and death and destruction could not be seen, only flashing light, and then, more darkness.

“They cannot stand against this battle station,” Dooku said.

The scintillating flares started to diminish in their intensity and their frequency, slowly coming to an end.  After it was over, all the lights were extinguished, the sky left only to the cold points of stars.

“It is over,” Dooku announced.

“No,” Obi-Wan corrected.  “But it will soon be over.”  There was now a lightsaber in his hand.

Dooku said, softly, “You mean to kill me.”

“Yes, I do.”  Turning to face Dooku, he ignited his blade.  In the bluish glow, Obi-Wan was cruelly beautiful, his perfect features without expression or compassion.  There was no malice in his inexorable eyes, nor any other feeling, as if he, too, were a distorted reflection of what he had been.

Dooku barked a laugh.  “May I ask, why?”

“You have made too many compromises,” Obi-Wan said, coldly.  “Instead of purging all the evil in the galaxy, you are content to make corrupt bargains.  First there was your contract with the Nemodians, but that quickly became the least of your offenses.  I had to watch you pardon _Mothma,_ a _criminal_ and a _terrorist—_ ”

“Executing her would have created a martyr, driving more to her cause,” retorted Dooku.  “Pardoned, she has lost her popularity, her followers wondering if she betrayed them to save herself.  Now, she is a forgotten exile.”

“She deserves death.”

“I had no choice,” insisted Dooku.

“There is _always_ a choice, _if_ you have the courage to see it.  Your corruption has made a coward of you.”

At his words, Dooku became incensed.  “ _Coward?_ You, above all others, know what I have endured for the good.”

“All of which I have endured, at your side.  But, _unlike_ you, _I_ will make no bargains with the Hutts.”

Dooku said nothing in reply, but his face tensed, his composure shaken.

Obi-Wan added, emphatically, “ _Yes,_ I know of your agreement with these _slavers_ and _murderers,_ despite your attempt to keep it from me.”

“You would never have understood,” Dooku sighed, tiredly.  “If I did not bargain with them, the Rebellion surely would have, and the war would be far from over.”

Obi-Wan shook his head in disgust.  “You have become no different from the corrupt Senators of the Old Republic, seeking the most expedient means to an end, ignoring the consequences.”

“Are _you_ so different?” countered Dooku.  “Why wait to task me for my crimes?  Of course.  Assuming the power of Lord Protector will be easier, and more certain, with the war at an end.”  Dooku smiled, thinly.  “A compromise of _yours_ , I believe.”

At this, Obi-Wan‘s expression changed from cold and dispassionate to one of contempt.  “It was a _prioritization_ , not a compromise.  Were I to eliminate you during the war, the confusion would have delayed the extermination of the Rebellion.  My _choice_ was to _delay_ your elimination.”

“We shall see, my _perfect_ student.”  Dooku leapt to his feet, his own lightsaber igniting in his hand with a hiss.  In a sudden motion, he brought his green blade swiftly down towards Obi-Wan’s head.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord Protector takes a Padawan learner. Yoda seeks the other possible reality.

Yoda cried out, causing the vision to fade to blackness, for he did not wish to see the end.

Yoda thought of the conversation he had with Dooku, just before Qui-Gon’s hearing.  “I believe Obi-Wan can become the perfect Jedi.”

_Yes, created the perfect Jedi he has.  Save the ideal, cares for nothing and no one he does…_

 

 

 

There was a holoprojector on the desk, projecting into the darkened room a detailed holomap of the galaxy.  Jeweled orbs of planets, blue, green, red, and gray, rotated on their axises in an endless dance as they revolved around their gleaming stars.

Alone, Obi-Wan Kenobi watched, in silence.

A middle-aged man in an administrator’s uniform walked into the room.  He approached Obi-Wan, but was careful to leave a respectful distance.  Before speaking, he cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Lord Protector?  It is the man you asked for.”

Without moving his eyes, Obi-Wan spoke, “Show him in.”

The young athlete, Anakin, entered the chamber.  He walked confidently, without hesitation, into the Lord Protector’s presence, his exaggerated cocky stride a cover for his anxiety.  He was dressed in new, very formal black attire, his blonde hair freshly cut, shorn above the ears.

“It looks surprisingly small,” Obi-Wan said, apropos to nothing.

“What?” responded Anakin, forgetting his manners.  Quickly he corrected himself, “What looks small, Lord Protector?”

“The galaxy,” Obi-Wan stated, still looking at the holomap.  “From this distance, it seems small.  And peaceful.  Every planet perfect and in harmonious motion.”  He then added, briskly, “It is very deceiving, of course.”

“Uh, yes, Lord Protector.”

Obi-Wan finally turned his eyes towards him.  “I suppose you are wondering why I summoned you.”

Anakin shrugged, “I didn’t think you wanted my autograph.”

Surprised, Obi-Wan let out a laugh.  “And why wouldn’t I?  Winner of the Boonta classic six times.  Astrobatic galaxy champion.  The highest scorer ever at grav ball.  Most Valuable Player for Limmie’s champion Team Coruscant.  And I could go on.  The greatest athlete the galaxy has ever produced.”

“I did not think you followed sports, Lord Protector.”

“I follow everything,” Obi-Wan said.  He smiled but his eyes did not.  He looked Anakin up and down, his eyes taking in the high-collared velvet coat and its row of gleaming gold buttons, which contrasted with Obi-Wan’s own white robes.  “You certainly have dressed for the occasion.”

“It was my wife’s idea,” Anakin said, uncomfortably.  “Mithra thought it would be a sign of respect.”

“You are married, then?”

“Five years.”

“Children?”

“Three.  Two girls and a boy.”

Obi-Wan nodded, absently.  “We have not answered the question yet.  Why have I summoned you?”  He then added, “Are you afraid of me?”

“Yes.” Anakin said, without hesitation.  Looking at Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrows, he went on, “You have absolute control of the galaxy.  I have somehow come to your attention.  It would be foolish of me not to be afraid.”

“You are honest, then.  Good,” Obi-Wan said, with approval.  He reached over and shut off the holomap, which automatically illuminated the room with a bright light.  He then looked penetratingly at the younger man.

“I have a question for you, Anakin.  Perhaps you will answer it honestly, as well.”

“Of course, Lord Protector.”

“These athletic gifts of yours, you _do_ sense they are beyond the physical?  That it is not merely the gifts of your body, but something else?”

Anakin started in surprise, but managed to answer.  “Yes.”

Obi-Wan smiled again, this time in satisfaction.  “ _I_ know it as well.  Your physical skills are most impressive, but some of the physical talents you have are beyond mortal abilities.  Do you have dreams as well, dreams that often come true?  Or can you sense others thoughts, or compel them to do as you wish?”

“All of them, Lord Protector.”

“These gifts are gifts of the Force, which I believe you have with tremendous magnitude.  I could sense your presence for quite a while… it is a shame you were never taken by the Jedi.”

“I grew up a slave in the Outer Rim, Lord Protector.”

Obi-Wan nodded, as if he already knew everything he needed to know.  “And your mother, is she gifted as well?”

“Not so far as I know.”

“Your father?”

“I never had a father,” Anakin said, awkwardly.  He made as if to say more but did not.

Obi-Wan smiled.  “There are many strange stories about you, Anakin.  In one of these, your mother bore you herself, a miracle child without a biological father.  Is this story true?”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I see.  Yes, this does explain much.  And the manner of your birth troubles you.”

“ _No_.”

“I thought you were going to be honest, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chided, but still smiling as if it amused him.  “You now see how if you had been taken by the Jedi at birth, as _I_ was, you would be better off.”

“In what way, Lord Protector?”

“The Jedi allow neither father nor mother, but it has never troubled _me_.  _I_ have not struggled with such attachments.”

“None?  But what of your Master?” Anakin blurted, then immediately looked as if he regretted it.

Obi-Wan made a dismissive gesture with his hand.  “All those Jedi fables about the ‘sacred eternal bond between Master and Padawan’?  Sentimental _nonsense_.”  He added, impatiently, to Anakin’s look of doubt, “Oh, yes, I did have a Master, _once_.  But, in the end, he was only my instructor.  He taught me well.  Nothing else.

“But as you know, not only do the Jedi forbid father and mother, they also forbid a wife and children. I have never married, and I never will. When I die, the galaxy will fall back into chaos.  That is where _you_ come in.”

“Me?” Anakin asked, startled.

“I need an apprentice.  Someone to train.  You are the most Force gifted individual I have ever met.  The conclusion is obvious.”

“You wish to train _me_?  But I am only an athlete.”

“Do not be tedious.  Have I not just explained my reasoning?  Or is it you do not wish to be trained by me?”

“It is not that, Lord Protector.  I am too old to begin training as a Jedi.”

“That is the old way.  The Jedi Order is now being reformed,” Obi-Wan said, firmly.  “In any case, the Jedi Council is not in a position to disagree.”

“I am also married.”

Obi-Wan grimaced.  “That is more difficult, I concede to you,” he said, with barely concealed distaste.  “Such…. attachments are corrupting.  However, this fault of yours may yet serve a purpose.  Your children, are _they_ like _you_?  Gifted?”

“I believe so, Lord Protector.  Particularly my eldest girl.”

“Then, _you_ will have no shortage of apprentices.  _Powerful_ apprentices.  There will be no need to search elsewhere.”  He went on, warningly, “But you must understand, if you choose to learn from me, you will no longer be the athletic prince of the galaxy.  You will be at my side, but it will not be a life of ease, but one of struggle and suffering.”  Obi-Wan sighed, deeply.  “For myself, I wish to put this burden of power down, but I cannot.”

After a moment, Anakin put in, hesitantly, as if fearing greatly to offend, “If the Protectorate could return to a system more like the Republic, others could share more in your burden.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, but shook his head.  “ _Impossible._   You are old enough to remember how the corrupt bureaucrats nearly destroyed the galaxy.  No, those who are wise enough to use power should rule, the same way the head rules the body.  I wish it were otherwise, but it is not.  _You_ will learn the same, someday.”

“That is, assuming I accept this offer,” Anakin said, uneasily.

Obi-Wan was amused at his discomfiture.  “You think I will not allow you to refuse?  Forced service would be useless to me.”  He looked at Anakin perceptively.  “But, you will not refuse.”

“Why?”

“You like challenges.  Being an athlete bores you.  You _know_ you were meant for far greater things.  And you will know _power_ , both as my apprentice and as my political right hand, to do the deeds you have always dreamt of accomplishing.”

For the first time, Anakin looked directly into Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“Yes, Anakin.  I can sense your greatest aspirations.  They are not secret to me.”

“Which are?”

Obi-Wan looked at him, levelly.  “You think I lie?  I would not remain Lord Protector if I could not sense the _susceptibilities_ of others.  You wish to mend things which are broken, do you not?”

Anakin opened his eyes wider for a moment in surprise, then nodded.  “I like to fix things.  I’m _good_ at fixing things.”  He flexed both his hands, clenching them for a moment before extending his fingers again.  “Mechanical things.  But, I want to fix… _everything_.”

“Why don’t you sit down, and we can discuss some of the problems facing the Protectorate?” Obi-Wan asked, smiling, indicating a chair next to him.  “There is much in the galaxy that needs to be fixed.”

“I would like that,” Anakin said, taking the offered seat at Obi-Wan’s side.

 

 

 

_The Podracer, could the **Chosen One** be?_

Yoda contemplated the possible consequences of what he had just seen.

 _Without a father, bound to a Master incapable of feeling, the boy would be_ …

 

 

 

Overhead, the sky was an oppressive blue, relentlessly clear.  The light of two suns made everything a dazzling white and gold, without shadow.

On a rough crop of rock stood Obi-Wan and the young man, Anakin.  The harsh wind whipped their long cloaks about them with a dull hiss of scouring sand and dry heat.

A strong gust of wind blew Anakin’s hood back, revealing a stream of fair hair.  He squinted his eyes against the light.  “I never thought I would return here.  After Watto’s exequies, there was nothing for me here.”

Obi-Wan turned his head to look at him.  His eyes were as relentlessly clear as the sky.  “You returned here to grieve for your former slaveowner?” Obi-Wan asked, in disbelief.

Anakin looked slightly uncomfortable at the scrutiny.  “He wasn’t my owner any longer.  He was my agent.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, dubiously.  “But you should have known it was your destiny to return here, for did you not dream of this?”

“Yes, but it was a child’s dream,” Anakin laughed.  “I never thought I would actually free them.”

“And now you have,” his Master said, smiling.  “The Force has always been strong with you, my Padawan.  Even as a boy your dreams were visions from the Force.”

“Yes, Master.  But even then, I did not realize how many slaves there were,” Anakin said as he gestured to the desert plains below.

Close to a thousand beings were being sorted into different queues.  All, from infants held in their mother’s arms, to small children clinging to their mother’s legs with wide, scared eyes, to the old, their backs bent and scarred by hard labor and whip, were being herded into large ships waiting at the end of each line.  As they entered their assigned ship, each was given a small receptacle.  Some accepted theirs gratefully, with timid smiles, some grabbed their container greedily, and others took it only gingerly, clearly suspicious of its contents.

Obi-Wan turned to watch the progress below.  “You have done well, Anakin, organizing their evacuation.”

“Thank you, Master.  Perhaps I should accompany them to Dantooine, to ensure their successful acclimation.”

“No, that will not be necessary.  The construction of their new villages is complete, with all they will need to make it successful.  Functionaries will help them organize into a capable society.  When we are finished here, I would like you to—”

Obi-Wan was cut off by the sound of hundreds of blasters firing simultaneously behind them.  They both turned around to face the direction of the weapons fire.

“What was the final tally?”Anakin asked, dispassionately.

“Three hundred and twelve.  I must commend Commander Cody on his efficiency in organizing the firing squad.”

“Did any of the slave owners evade capture?”

“Commander Cody reported that none escaped.  But, if he is incorrect, our blockade will find them.”

Anakin nodded, falling silent.

Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan, perceptively.  “What are you thinking?”

Anakin hesistated before answering.  “I am thinking I would be feeling some discomfort, if Watto was not already dead.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I do not understand your _attachment_ to your former slaveowner.”

“Neither do I, Master.”

Obi-Wan continued to regard his Padawan.  “If he _was_ still alive, would you have been able to send him before the firing squad without hesitation?”

“I believe so.”

“It is not a question of belief, it is a question of knowledge,” Obi-Wan said, crisply.  “The good must _always_ come before personal attachments, regardless of the consequences.”

Anakin nodded, “I understand, Master.”

The two men watched in silence as, in the far distance, the soldiers began their grim task of collecting the corpses to be burnt.

 

 

 

_Freed the slaves, good that is.  But, for the slavers, death?  One evil for another, exchanged they have._

_The price, terrible it is… yet without **beauty,** it is not._

For Yoda could see, throughout the galaxy, glistening cities of stone and metal, reaching into the sky.

And in these cities there were millions of beings who knew nothing of war, plague, or hunger.

Each thread of life wove together into a beautiful pattern, symmetrical and regular.  The pattern was fixed, with little chaos, for when a life deviated, it was quickly drawn back into the pattern, or abruptly terminated.

And the center thread, the life on which all others depended, was Obi-Wan’s, ordering and fixing the shape of the pattern.  The song of the Lord Protector, now harsh and stern, without joy or feeling, was unyielding in its perfection.  And it was overpowering; for all others echoed back variations of his song.  But this chorus of lives, in their infinite variations, also sang back a song of praise, and love, for Obi-Wan, the Lord Protector of the Galaxy, who had fashioned this new existence from the old…

 

 

Obi-Wan’s throne, a plain white chair, was on a slightly raised dais.  The hall, impressive in size, was filled with hundreds of beings, sitting before him in utter silence.  The walls were of white stone, without decoration or ornamentation, save the inscriptions on the high vaulted arch that rose above him.  On the pillar to the left was deeply chiseled, “ALWAYS VIGILANT,” to the right, “VIRTUE IS ALL.”  Above him, on the arch itself, the words proclaimed, “FOR THE GREATER GOOD.”  To his right hand, on a lower throne, sat Anakin.

Obi-Wan looked considerably older; his hair, now cropped short, was mostly silver, and he had frown lines of deep thought in his brow and around his eyes.  He, like Anakin, was dressed in the white Jedi robes.

The doors behind the audience slid open, and two guards in blue senatorial armor brought forth a human male dressed in opulent robes, his expression revealing fear.  The guards escorted this man, firmly but without roughness, down the center aisle to stand before Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan addressed him.  “Trianor, you have been found guilty of embezzlement.  Do you have anything to say before I pronounce your sentence?”  Obi-Wan did not raise his voice, but it carried throughout the room, unamplified.

“Lord Protector,” Trianor answered, his voice trembling, “have you read the legal brief I prepared for you?”

“I have read it with great interest,” Obi-Wan said, coolly.  “Although it does not tell me anything I did not already know.  As Minister of Finance, you have always been exceptional.  This does not, of course, excuse you from the crimes you have committed.”

“I know it does not, Lord Protector,” Trianor went on, hurredly.  “But my polices have resulted in an inflation rate of virtually zero percent.  There is no unemployment.  With my commerce and distribution systems, there will never be a famine on any planet, from here to the Outer Rim.  Despite the prevalent lack of confidence in the economy following the abolishment of slavery and indentured servitude, along with the other reforms instituted to protect all laborers, under my administration the Protectorate has been more prosperous than the Republic had ever been.”

Anakin glared at Trianor.  “Under _your_ administration?”

“I meant, as an advisor to you both,” Trianor said quickly.  “It of course could not have been possible without the strict enforcement of my policies by the Lord Protector.”

Obi-Wan then asked, “And what of those who served under you?  The two hundred individuals in your department, who worked collectively to detail those same policies.  Do you now take credit for their achievements?”

Trianor seemed confused by the irrelevant change of subject, but he replied, “No, of course not, my Lord.  Without their work, I would never have achieved such greatness.  I mean, for the Protectorate.  But consider, they would not have been able to do so much for the Protectorate without my leadership.”

“I have considered it.  But I have also considered what has been denied the Protectorate, due to the credits you stole.”

“Lord Protector, the amount of credits I had taken was insignificant to the Protectorate’s vast treasury.”

To this, Obi-Wan became incensed.  “As you well know, the Protectorate does not hoard funds.  All surpluses are distributed to where it is needed.  This past quarter, the excess funds were used to improve underprivileged housing.  How many families could have been moved to healthier and safer quarters, if you had not stolen from them?”

“My Lord, I… I do not have the figures…” Trianor stammered.  “But this, of course, assumes all of it would have been used—”

“Over a thousand households,” Obi-Wan answered for him.

“I… I will replace everything I have taken, my Lord,” Trianor insisted.  “With interest.  Everything will be set right.”

“The credits are not the issue,” Obi-Wan said, scornfully.  “It is obvious you do not understand the true nature of your crimes.”

“Which is, Lord Protector?” Trianor asked, timidly.

“Namely, how you betrayed the public interest, driven by greed,” Obi-Wan said, sternly.

“Lord Protector,” Trianor said, his voice shaking with fear, “I swear to you, I did not want this wealth for myself.  For years I had handled the wealth of the Protectorate, and not once did I touch it.”

“Then what changed?”

“My wife… Uxorana.  She is a good woman, sir, a good wife.  But I was perhaps too fond of her, too obliging.  She wanted things I could not afford, and I only wanted to please her.  I always planned to pay it back, in time.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Through attachment there is corruption.  Now you understand why the Jedi forbade the taking of a spouse.”  Obi-Wan turned to Anakin besides him, and bared his teeth in a grimace of apology.  “Except, of course, when one joins the Jedi as an adult already married.”

Obi-Wan turned back to Trianor.  “Further, when I came to you and asked about the financial irregularities I had found, you denied any knowledge of it.  Instead of telling me the truth, you covered up your thefts, and encouraged your subordinates to cover for you, as well.”

“Lord Protector, I feared losing my office.  I feared losing my dignity.”

“These trappings are _nothing_ ,” spat Obi-Wan.  “Your desire for such things has utterly corrupted you.”  Obi-Wan paused for a moment before continuing.  “Is there anything else you wish to say before I pronounce your sentence?”

Trianor fell to his knees, clutching at the hem of the Lord Protector’s robe.  “Mercy!  Mercy on me, Lord Protector!”

“Ask mercy from your gods, for you will get none from me,” Obi-Wan said coldly.  He then turned to the guards.  “Get his hands off me.”

The guards pulled Trianor to his feet, supporting him, for his shaking legs could not hold him.

“You will be taken immediately to the Nemoidian Detention Center,” Obi-Wan said, implacably.

Trianor started to cry, profusely.  Through his sobbing, he burst out, “Lord... Lord Protector, I… I have worked with you for… many years.  How can you do this to me?  You met my… my wife, and my children.  What… what will happen to my children?  I… I thought we were _friends_!”

Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows, his expression one of distaste.  “I have no friends,” Obi-Wan said, calmly.  “One week from today, at dusk, you will be executed for your crimes, along with those who have been found guilty of attempting to cover your theft.”

Trianor fell back on his knees, exclaiming, in horror, “My Lord, they took nothing!  Not a single credit!  Please!  Surely they do not share in my guilt!”

“Just as they share in your achievements, they share in your sentence.”  Obi-Wan made a dismissive motion with his hand to take Trianor away. 

The assembly was very careful not to look at the condemned man as he was dragged, still weeping and pleading for his life, through the rear doors.

Anakin stood up and pronounced, “We will now hear the next case.”

 

 

 

_Virtue is all, but what left, is there…_

 

 

 

“Yes?” asked Obi-Wan, to the uniformed man in the doorway.  The Lord Protector was now an old man, his white cloak draped tightly around him, for he was drawn and spare of flesh.  Despite this, there was nothing feeble about him, his expression one of keen and dispassionate intelligence.

The uniformed man bowed, “Lord Protector,” he stated, “we are receiving a signal from the Lord Apprentice.”

“Open the transmission immediately,” Obi-Wan ordered.

A Hologram appeared on the disc in the floor of the chamber.  It was Anakin, now mature, his blonde hair streaked with gray, kneeling in the image to his Master.

“Yes, my Apprentice?”

“I have the full reconnaissance concerning the aliens on Helska IV and Sernpidal, Lord Protector,” relayed Anakin, his head bowed.

“It is about time,” rebuked Obi-Wan.  “Are the reports true?”

“Yes.  And there is more.  They have a fleet of ‘Worldships,’ each holding _millions_ of the aliens, including children and the elderly.  Most likely the entire species is contained within the fleet.”

Obi-Wan jerked his chin in acknowledgement.  “The scholars speculate they may have come from another galaxy.  Is there evidence of this?”

“Yes, Lord Protector.  We have captured one of the aliens.  He is of a species I have never encountered, nor, I am told, is mentioned in the Jedi library.  And their technology, including their ships, is organic.”

“Living ships?”

“Yes.  The Worldships are more like small planets, as opposed to warships.”

“ _Most_ interesting.  Yet, I sense there is something more of import you need to tell me.”

Anakin hesitated for a moment, grimacing slightly.  “Yes… I could not sense them in the Force.”

“ _Impossible_.”

Anakin shrugged, “Apparently not.”

“If it is true, then they are all the more dangerous,” Obi-Wan said, crisply.  “A violent, unreasonable race, which will fight to the death and not allow for truce.  Has any progress been made in analyzing their shielding devices?”

“Yes.  Spread over the surfaces of their ships is these… parts… or creatures… that have the ability to generate black holes.  When they detect an attack, they generate a singularity, which obliterates the threat, whether matter or energy.”

“Fascinating.  Has their limits been determined?”

“Not yet.  However, each creature seems to be able to generate only one black hole at a time.”

“And how have they arranged their ships?”

“Close defensive formation.  It allows the shielding creatures to cover neighboring vessels.”

“Send me a battle analysis map.”

Anakin turned away, and said something inaudible to one of the officers behind him.

Turning back to the holocamera, Anakin nodded, “Transmitting.”

On a screen in front of Obi-Wan appeared a detailed map.  Obi-Wan leaned over it, his brows drawn together in concentration as he studied the map intently.  Not looking up, he again addressed Anakin.

“Arrange our fleet into columns, spaced apart, so that the lead ship in each column will conceal our numbers.  Have our ships stay within firing distance of their lead ships, but only just.  This way, if the enemy strikes, only one ship per column would be sacrificed.”

“Yes, Master.”

“We will have to time this most carefully.  The Shield of the Protectorate will fire the moment it emerges from Hyperspace.  Seconds before, all the columns of our ships will spread out, completely surrounding the enemy forces.  On your command, they will then fire simultaneously on the alien ships.  Then, when the Shield fires, there will be none of the shielding creatures available.  We should be able to take out at least a third of their fleet with this one strike.”

“It will be done just as you order, Master.”

“See to it,” Obi-Wan stated, terminating the transmission.

As Anakin’s hologram faded out, Obi-Wan turned to the officer still standing by the doorway.

“Admiral!” snapped Obi-Wan.

The uniformed man bowed again, “Yes, my Lord?”

“Prepare the Shield to fire, and make sure the navigators are ready to enter Hyperspace the moment firing control indicates to you they are ready.”

“Yes, Lord Protector.”  The Admiral clicked his heels and hurried away to do his bidding.

Obi-Wan turned his chair to face the large circular window.  The Lord Protector of the Galaxy looked into the vast darkness of space, dappled with distant points of light, his expression indifferent, as if a reflection of the cold and isolated stars he surveyed.

“Entering Hyperspace,” crackled the speaker on the terminal, as the stars burst into streaking flares of light.

Obi-Wan leaned his head back against the chair, wearily closing his eyes.  Though at rest, there was nothing vulnerable in his expression; he looked the disinterested philosopher with contempt for life.

As the star lines shrank back into pinpoints of light, he opened his eyes with barely contained exasperation, leaning forward in his chair to better analyze the battle before him.  Two distinct fleets of ships could be seen from the round window.  In the center was what looked like an asteroid field, but each “asteroid” could not be that, for each rough spherical mass moved clearly under its own power.  Surrounding them were large wedge-shaped capital ships, each of which was flanked by smaller L-shaped ships and hundreds of tiny starfighters.

Every one of the surrounding ships fired simultaneously on the encircled fleet.  Black vortexes appeared before each of the organic ships, and most of the laser bolts vanished into them.  But, as there were thousands upon thousands of laser blasts raining down on the encircled fleet, many ships were hit, causing violent explosions.

From below and to the right of the window came a single, immense, bolt of greenish energy, fired into the center of the alien fleet.  It was so blinding, that for a moment the fleets could not be seen, only the unnatural glow of the weapon.  When the firing stopped, where the center of the fleet had been, there was only emptiness, the ships evaporated by the power of the weapon, as if they had never been.

Surrounding this spherical void was fiery debris, remains of exploding ships that illuminated the dark with beautiful golden sparks of light.

As the burning debris began to clear, it became obvious the alien fleet had been conquered, for what had not been destroyed was now floundering helplessly in space, surrounded by predatory Protectorate ships.

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied.  He flicked the audio switch on the terminal in front of him.

“Report.”

Anakin’s voice answered, “Nearly seventy percent of the alien fleet is destroyed, including all of the Worldships.  Another twenty percent has been severely crippled and are unable to flee.  Only ten percent escaped with minor damage.  Their fleet was so tightly packed together, the debris from the ships destroyed by the Shield caused nearly as much damage as the blast itself.”

“Excellent.  Have the fleet move in.  Ensure not a single ship survives.  When that is done, have all the debris collected and incinerated.  Make sure no organic matter remains.  If any survives, there would still be danger.”

“And the alien we captured?”

“Destroy it.”

“Yes, Master.”

 

 

 

_That blast, impossible was._

_A planet, destroy it, the weapon could!_

_Those deaths… genocide._ Tears flowed down Yoda’s face.

_Invisible to the Force, the aliens were?  Learn much from them we could, if meet peacefully with them…_

 

 

In the center of a great room, surrounded by hundreds, was a simple funeral bier, without adornment.  On it lay Obi-Wan Kenobi in his white Jedi robes.  His hair was a very fine-spun silver, and the lids, closed over his eyes, were fixed and violet.  Even in death, he retained his severe uncompromising beauty.  His expression suggested nothing of pity nor love.

Some of the mourners cried openly, others, perhaps the majority, seemed numb from shock.  HoloNet cameras glided silently among the assembled.

Anakin walked to a podium in the front of the room.  With him were two women, tall, fair, and very beautiful.  The older woman to Anakin’s left wore a plain gray dress, while the girl to his right was dressed in white Jedi robes.

All eyes, as well as the HoloNet cameras, turned to Anakin.  He, too, was overwhelmed with emotion, for he closed his eyes for a moment before he began, but when he spoke, his voice did not tremble.

“There is little that could be said of the Protector that has not already been said, and by greater speakers than I.  Today we honor the greatest leader the galaxy has ever seen, the man who rebuilt the galaxy into a greater society, devoted to nothing but the good of all.

“He was a man of uncompromising virtue, known, without cynicism, as ‘The Incorruptable’ by both friends and enemies alike.  He saw his power as a heavy burden he had to shoulder to reshape a corrupted Republic into our utopian Protectorate.  He never sought power for himself, nor partook of any extravagances or luxuries others begged of him to take.  He did not seek fame; for he would not exult in the adoration the masses offered him.  Yes, he did not _seek_ our love, although we would willingly have given it to him as our savior.” Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, before continuing.

“His actions were not without controversy.  Some have called him harsh, cruel, unfeeling.  Yes, he was a _hard_ man, a hard man who made hard choices in a black and evil time.  But he made these choices without any thought of the cost to himself, and it is through his sacrifices that our Galaxy was reborn.

“So let us honor him, not with praise nor speeches, but by continuing his work.  The Reformed Jedi Order…” Anakin paused a moment to indicate, with a bow of his head, a section of the crowd dressed in white robes like his, “will continue its task of governing and managing the Protectorate, with the assistance of the Senate.  Despite our loss of the Protector, there will be no return to anarchy.

“I am honored the Senate, and all those who support their decision, has selected me to continue his legacy, the legacy of a man I would have been honored to call my father, if fate had allowed.  He was mortal, but the Protectorate shall be _im_ mortal.”  Anakin again paused, smiling proudly, as he laid his hand on the young girl’s shoulder.  “To my right stands my daughter, Shmi.  Just as Master Obi-Wan prepared me to assume the leadership of the Protectorate upon his passing, I, too, will train another to continue the work when I am gone.  I promise, what he has built will not die with him.  We shall ensure it will last forever.”

 

 

 

Yoda shook his head.

_No other choice there is?  Future, not fixed it is, **change** it can._

Yoda could see the pattern of the future, shifting and changing under his eyes.  The lives of the galaxy formed a multitude of patterns, with the subtlest of touches in one life changing the whole of the pattern.

_Another path, there **must** be._

Looking at the threads of the many lives, each and every pattern Yoda could discern reflected the glory of Dooku and Kenobi, the two lives about which all others moved.  And all these patterns began at a single convergence…

 

 

 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, I am taking you as my Padawan learner.”

Obi-Wan bowed to Dooku.  He did not smile.  “I am honored to be chosen by you, Master.  I am eager to learn from you how to best serve the good of the Republic.”

 

 

 

And yet, it was _not_ fixed; there was the vibration of the alternate possibility.

_See it, I must…_

Behind the image of Dooku taking young Obi-Wan as his Padawan, there was a dim and unlikely shadow.

Yoda remembered again the third Jedi whose life the Force had shown him.

_Qui-Gon._

The chaotic thread of red briefly glanced against Obi-Wan’s life.  But only for a moment, before separating.

_Possible, could it be?_

Yoda looked into that moment, watching all the infinite possibilities of Qui-Gon’s life, as the thread shifted and twisted in the various forms.

Among them, there was _one…_

One single possibility, in the very faintest of patterns.  Only the breath of a trace, the palest of shadows, the feeblest of possibilities.

Qui-Gon’s life knotting tightly to that of Obi-Wan.

Yoda peered into that possible future, but it was faint, the images only flashes, as if it were a dream of a ghostly realm…

 

 

 

Obi-Wan, hidden in darkness, except for his face, blanched colorless in moonlight.

Qui-Gon’s voice.  “I am taking you as my Padawan.”

 

 

 

_Yes!_

**_That_ ** _future…_

But even as he tried to look deeper into it, the volume of the most likely future overwhelmed his mind with its song, the song of the golden life bound to the silver one…

 

 

 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, I am taking you as my Padawan learner.”

Obi-Wan bowed to Dooku.  He did not smile.  “I am honored to be chosen by you, Master.  I am eager to learn from you how to best serve the good of the Republic.”

 

 

 

Yoda shook his head.

But it was so fixed, so clear, so _likely._

To see any other was struggling against the current…

 

 

 

Obi-Wan, in his early teens, was before Dooku in the meditation chamber.  He had assumed one of the advanced positions of the Teras Kasi discipline, his body upside down and almost impossibly balanced on a single extended arm.  Although a fine sheen of sweat coated his brow and upper lip, his body was perfectly still, suspended in air as if maintaining this position was effortless.  His eyes were closed, his face content and at peace.

The chamber was lit by a single lamp, whose flickering light cast strange shapes against the wall.  Unlike the Padawan’s face, which was illuminated by a golden sheen, the Master’s face was in darkness.

Dooku’s voice was pleased, soothing, and very soft in the silent room. “It is a _hard_ existence, my son. And an evil one.  But we can win it for the good, if only we are strong enough.  This will be your task, Obi-Wan, if only you can master yourself.”

 

 

 

Yoda shook his head again, as if to clear it.

_No!_

He struggled to concentrate.

_See the **other** , I will…_

 

 

 

Qui-Gon, his face hidden in the shadows of the darkened room, was sitting at the foot of Obi-Wan’s sleep-couch.  The Master was speaking very softly, his gentle voice soothing his Padawan to sleep.

“It is a _good_ existence, my son.  You will sometimes doubt this, with all the suffering you will see.  But in life there exists not only pain, but also love, which is its remedy.  This will be your path, Obi-Wan, should you choose it.”

 

 

 

The song of the gold and silver lives, so powerful and overwhelming, drowned out what he had just seen.

_So strong against the current, perhaps go a Jedi should not…_

 

 

 

A tall man, hands clasped behind his back, was standing on the bridge of a ship facing a transparisteel window, through which glowed a blue-white star, whose light threw him into shadow.  Without turning around, he commanded, “Announce our arrival.”

From a terminal to his left, a young blonde woman pronounced, “High Cleric, this is the flagship _Kenobi_.  The Lord Protector has come in response to your strike against Coruscant.  We await your reply.”  She stared expectantly at the console for several moments, but it remained silent.  “There is no reply, Father.”

The man turned from the window.  It was Anakin, Lord Protector of the Galaxy.  His thick hair, cut bluntly at the jaw, was mostly gray, but his body was lithe with unnatural suppleness.  Though still handsome, there was nothing left of the boy Anakin, all warmth and sweetness was replaced by chiseled harshness.  Calmly, he answered, “They will give us a reply quite soon, Shmi.”

“You mean they will attack us?”

“Yes.”

“But that would be _suicide_ ,” she said, in disbelief.

Not changing his tone, he replied again, “Yes.”

Shmi rose from her station and hurried to her father’s side, her white robe brushing softly against his.  The blue-white starlight, falling directly on their faces, threw their features into stark relief.  The grey of his hair and the yellow of hers now appeared the same pale blue, obscuring the difference in their ages, highlighting their close resemblance.

Answering her unspoken question, he said, simply, “They will have to annihilated.  All of them.”

“But what of the innocents?  Those not responsible for the High Cleric’s actions?  The children?” She asked, incredulously.  “Certainly, we cannot—”

“We must insure such atrocities do not happen again, and the guilty must be punished.  Choices must be made, Shmi.  Some choices are not easy, but this does not excuse our moral failing if we choose not to make them.  It is unfortunate, yes, that some must die.  But no life is greater than the good.  _No one_.  _Never_ forget that.”

She nodded, chastised.  “I understand, Father.”

“No,” he corrected, more gently, “you don’t.  Not yet.  Neither did I, when my Master first explained this to me.  But you will.”

“You are right,” she finally conceded.  “I do not understand.  But I do trust you.”

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled to himself.  “When this is over, remind me to tell you a story Lord Kenobi told me about trust.”

The two of them, Master and Apprentice, father and daughter, looked down at the small green-brown planet rotating around the star.  On the terminal to Anakin’s left, a moving point of light could be seen traveling from the planet.  An alarm sounded within the ship.

Without turning from the window, Anakin ordered, “Identify.”

Shmi hurried back to the terminal, watching the trajectory of the unknown object.

“It is a missile, Father.”

“How long before impact?”

“Forty-five seconds.  Shall I have the gunners target it?”

“That will not be necessary,” he replied, calmly.  “Stand beside me.”

Bewildered, she gestured back at the terminal, “But—”

“Stand beside me,” he repeated.

She threw a worried look at the screen, but obeyed.

Anakin gestured to the dark sky below them with his hand.  His voice was very soft despite the sounding alarm, almost a whisper in Shmi’s ear.  “The power of the Force is infinite.  And so is the power of those who can control it.”  He smiled, “That is, those who find mastery over themselves.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.  “See the missile with the Force.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Reach out with the Force, and hold it.”

She tentatively reached out a hand.  On the screen, the blip showing the trajectory of the missile slowed, and then came to a complete stop.

“Now _crush_ it.”

Shmi closed her hand.  On the screen to her left, the pinpoint of light disappeared, and the alarm abruptly fell silent.

“Now to end this madness.”  Anakin closed his eyes, and added, quietly, “Your power in the Force is great, Shmi.  The greatest limits on your power will be your belief in what cannot be done, for in the Force, all is possible.  Observe.”

With that, Anakin raised his hand and closed his fist.

Nothing happened to the planet.  But, on the surface of the star, a black storm was raging, the blue-white glow swirling with cloudy black.  The star rapidly collapsed into itself, the brightness dimming, as the black tendrils of the storm began to swirl more violently and spread more rapidly.  The planet below descended into an endless night, without hope of dawn; its star, now a dirty yellow, as if seen through a veil of shadow, was no bigger and brighter than a small moon.  The wan light jaundiced Anakin’s face, who regarded the scene below, expressionless.

“It is done,” Anakin said, tightly clenching his hand.

The star was now a dim flicker, as if seen from millions of light-years away.  And then it was gone.

Behind Anakin and Shmi there was only darkness.  The only light now came from the bridge of the ship, where Master and Apprentice stood, regarding their handiwork.

 

 

 

And then Yoda could see no further, for the darkness ruled over all.

Yoda struggled for breath, horrified by what he saw.  As if drowning and struggling to reach the surface for air, he desperately sought that other path, the slight possibility of the red thread knotting tightly to the gold, never to be divided…

 

 

 

There was the beating sound of drums, the echoing call of a horn in the night.

It was a celebration of people of distant possibility, nothing but shades and phantoms.

Most of the shades were very short, no more than a meter high, but mixed among them were taller shades.  Together, they danced in great joy.  Two of the taller ones stood to the side, hugging most tenderly, in the manner of a brother and sister, or perhaps the deepest and most cherished of friends.  One of them looked away for a moment, a trace of a smile barely visible in the shadow’s expression.

The shadow’s smile was directed towards three shades standing apart.  These were different from the rest, as they were more indistinct and glowed strangely with a beautiful blue luminescence.  Of the three, one was short, while the other two, standing to the right and left, were tall.

Then, for a moment, the shade to the right came into focus.  It was Obi-Wan, dressed in brown Jedi robes.  This was no great and terrible Lord of the galaxy, but simply an old man, his hair gray and his face deeply lined, for he had loved and suffered much.  But his eyes were beautiful, and kind.  Obi-Wan smiled, gently.  He did not articulate with his voice, yet Yoda heard him speak.  “The Dark has been defeated.  Balance has been brought to the Force.”

 

 

 

Yoda opened his eyes, back in the stillness of his chamber.  Though his lamp had burned out, the room was not in darkness for the pale light of dawn was streaking through the window.

_Only a few hours, before Dooku his Padawan takes…_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
